Whisper
by Zagury
Summary: When Volemort takes the meaning of ‘new world order’ into an entirely different aspect, Hermione is immediately part of the transition. While Ron searches for her, Hermione is given a task by Lord Voldemort himself. For the LJ Hermione Big Bang Challenge
1. Chapter 1

Story Notes:

_Oh my god_. I can't even believe I finished this. I had an amazing amount of fun writing this, even if I had to stick through the horrible blocks and the ups and downs of the fic. There were times when I wanted to take it around the neck and strangle it (I'm glad I didn't) and then there were others when I wanted to take it to bed just so I could keep the ideas rolling around inside my head.

My beta, you are a miracle. I can't even imagine having this ready without you, much less being able to push forward to the end. We were so excited about this and if I didn't have you to happily supply, I don't know if I would have finished it.

Somehow I feel like I have a special relationship with Hermione because of this. If I stuck with her for a week when she gave me nothing, she would give me four entire days of words and ideas. This is my first Big Bang ever and I can honestly say I'm so glad it was this one, I feel safe with these Mods and with this character. That Hermione.

Mods, thank you so much for all the time, effort and sanity you put into this. We all know it isn't easy work and all of this would just be a dream without you. Thank you so much for the beautiful experience and I hope that this event is everything you were looking forward to!

_Battle - A combat; struggle, as between armies._

Oh yeah, this was one hell of a struggle, all right.

There was, of course, struggle between the Dark Lord's followers and those who did not cause death; not only among both parties, but a third party as well. Muggles were massacred endlessly to spread a wordless message. It was a memorandum of power and destruction that needed neither blood nor pain. The thirst for such things drove Death Eaters over the edge and they succumbed to their most sinful desire.

Wizards and witches alike were driven to that edge as well, even if they did not stand for the Dark Lord. The yearning for victory brought out the very worst of every person who stood on the battlefields. Curses and their counters soared over heads, under heels, and rarely hit their destined target. Charms confused the ignorant, hexes were aimed at those who were trying desperately to escape and the most unforgivable were cast by the most unforgiving themselves. Allies were turned into enemies within moments, innocent souls tortured to dementia and the prevailing lives taken before they could realize they were a victim.

But the battle was only the beginning.

After so many friends were lost, so many strong allies, so many phenomenal witches and wizards, it was difficult to pick up the pieces again. Things did not become easier at all, really, because it was like we had finished a stain glass window and then decided to smash it.

"Difficult" is probably the poorest word to describe life after the war, but seeing as none of the shards have been located, "difficult" will suffice.

At first it was just funerals, services, apologies and wishes for more time. At first there were just mothers crying and fathers giving speeches and children getting wasted to avoid the reality of losing their siblings. At first it was just passing people on the street, keeping the head bowed to evade the sorrowful eyes and recognized gazes, and mainly, the lack of emotion.

At first, all of that was manageable.

But soon, 'at first' became nothing more than two little words, nothing more than a memory not worth remembering, a memory entirely too painful to remember, and a memory that was necessary for continuation.

As the months passed following Voldemort's demise, all parts of the world grew frantic. There was no cheerful celebration on the streets of London and Diagon Alley, no free drinks despite all the open pubs. There wasn't a witch or wizard who wasn't overruled by fear, and it was only a fear of the unknown. Without Fudge's poor rule or Dumbledore's wisdom, the Ministry fell apart.

Of course, that also meant that the Wizarding World had almost self-destructed. So many Death Easters had escaped, so many Aurors had been killed. There was no balance anymore, just a bunch of worried and scared kids running around with sticks in their hands. The fact that we were corrupted was a downfall within itself, but so many had experienced it, so many had witnessed and so many had fought.

Battle was a hard thing to forget.

Life was a hard thing to forget.

--

"Mr. Weasley, please share your statement on the case of the... Convergences." The Minister peered at the youngest Weasley son over his quite dirty and crooked glasses. They looked as though they might fall off the perch of his nose at any given moment.

Ron stood, wiping his sweating hands on his freshly ironed pants and clearing his throat. His expression was nothing like it used to be; he was now Auror Weasley. Auror Weasley shared nothing except case reports.

"Three years ago, the Dark Lord, Voldemort, declared war on all non-pureblood wizards and witches. In doing so, he gathered followers he named Death Eaters. These followers wiped out entire cities of Muggles and took many prisoners. When this first happened, there was nothing to do but instantly kill the Muggles. After an estimated six months, Lord Voldemort began setting up secret locations around the world for Muggles. He named these locations the Convergences.

"The Convergences first started out as quests to retrieve Muggles and non-pureblood wizards and witches from around the world. These prisoners were taken from small towns and villages--places that wouldn't miss them. There were small farming Muggles taken from Asia easily and non-pureblood wizards and witches taken from inner Europe with a bit of a struggle. However, many of the witches and wizards were not prepared for combat against Death Eaters and were therefore taken prisoner.

"Many of the Northern American Muggles and non-pureblood wizards and witches were sent to a desolate island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Approximately all of the European captured were led into Scotland and kept outside the very walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Australians were sent to colder regions, such as Greenland or, very rarely, Antarctica.

"In the magical and invisible walls of these secret locations, all Muggles were tortured with the Cruciatus Curse. Their loved ones were forced to watch them while they were driven into insanity. The Death Eaters taunted the Muggles, asked them to reveal their secrets to their families before they were killed. Muggles, or Muggle-borns? What secrets would Muggles have from their families that Death Eaters would know about? Most Muggles did, but the strongest or stupidest refused. This gave them instant death or a longer torture. The consequences depended on the Death Eater and his or her sympathy."

"Mr. Weasley, if I may interrupt," the judge drawled. "But we already know all of this information. Please explain the part of the case that will be most intriguing to the council."

"Yes, sir." Ron replied sternly and cleared his throat again. "Three days ago, one non-pureblood wizard managed to escape. Upon entering the Ministry, he was thought to be a distraught Muggle and was Obliviated. However, judging by his bodily state, he escaped physically and with no magical purposes."

"And what was his bodily state, Mr. Weasley?" The judge leaned forward just the slightest bit.

"There was an accumulation of dirt under his fingernails, a very large bruise on his right arm as if he had been ramming into something for a long period of time, and a fracture in his skull. Remarkably he did not fall unconscious upon this event. We still do not know how exactly he escaped, but we are theorizing that he found a weak wall and beat it down, or he was put in a locked location and threw his body against the door to escape. The Healers at St. Mungo's are slowly bringing back parts of his memory, though it will definitely take a long time."

"Mmhmm..." the judge muttered under his breath and took a few looks at his papers in front of him. "Well, thank you, Mr. Weasley, for preparing that case for us. We will return when there is more information on Mr...?"

"Calhoun."

"Mr. Calhoun's escape. Court adjourned."

--

_If only Neville hadn't Oblivated Calhoun... Hermione would be so close,_ Ron thought as he let firewhiskey burn down his throat. His routine had been something of the same for the past few years: research the Convergences for a while, write a case, present the case, be told it wasn't enough and go back to researching. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

_And now, with Calhoun recovering, I may just have enough._ Ron swirled the ice in his glass.

_But is Hermione still alive?_

"Ron?" Ginny's hand was warm on his shoulder. That's right; she and Harry were meeting him here for dinner tonight to catch up on the case.

"Hey, Gin," he said, trying to put on a cheerful face as he rose and put a gentle arm around his sister. Harry smiled at him when he turned around. "Hey, Harry. How's it been?"

"Pretty well, though I can't say the same for you, I suppose? C'mon, let's get seated and we can chat." His voice had grown softer, gentler. Ron suspected Ginny's tenderness had had some kind of effect on him.

"So how did it go today?" Ginny asked, taking a look at the menu and quickly closing it. Ron rolled his eyes; she was on that silly Quidditch diet. She always tells him that if she thinks too much about her diet, she'll stray. Both he and her faithful boyfriend, Harry, told her that she should be able to eat whatever she wants since she plays Quidditch at least ten hours a week.

"Same as always. I presented the case, the judge wanted to know what would "intrigue the council" and then decided to postpone the case until I had more information about Calhoun." The waitress came to the table and looked at Ron fondly. He had been coming here often, not having enough time to go home and cook with all the time he put into work. They often chatted while she was on her break and he was at the bar. He tried to be somewhat standoffish every now and then, but she didn't have a clue. She was cute and her name was Julie, but he didn't have time for relationships. It's not like he could bear one anyway, with Hermione so far gone.

"Yeah, how is he doing?" Harry asked, taking a sip of the wine he had ordered.

Ron shrugged in response. "I haven't been by St. Mungo's since the day he was put in there. I'm going to go visit him tomorrow and see what the Healers are saying. I'm hoping he'll make a fast recovery so I can have those memories. If he was able to break out of a Convergence physically... Imagine what we could do with magic."

Ginny said, "I didn't know they could retrieve memories."

Harry answered, "They can now, but it's a dangerous and complicated spell. It takes a lot of practice and only a few Healers know how to do it, I hear. Most don't want to learn because of all the time it takes. Apparently it gets the patients well faster, but they need a family member to agree to it for them."

"Thing is, all of Calhoun's family is in one of the Convergences. He was a Muggle-born," said Ron.

"So how do they resolve it?" Ginny asked.

"The court decides. That's our next presentation, actually. It should only take a couple of days to draw up, and I'm hoping we'll have the judge's favor--he's sick and tired of this case too. Most of the council is even personally chipping in, offering bits of this and that they hear from other members or something of the sort. Some of them have gotten involved deeply, like me, but not many," he answered, reaching for the firewhiskey again. Harry handed him water instead. He grinned at his best mate.

"Well, what've you two been up to, eh?" He veered from the court talk. A little Weasley news would do him some good.

Ginny said, "Mum wants you to come back to Sunday dinners. She says you've been working too hard."

"We, of course, told her it was pointless and that'd you would only add hours to your work schedule, especially with this Calhoun fellow," Harry added. Ron nodded.

"I might have to drop by on Sundays again. I really have missed you guys. Gets lonely in my flat sometimes."

"It also doesn't help that you're searching for her." Ginny mumbles, looking down into her lap. She isn't crying or blushing, but she refuses to meet her brother's eyes. She knows that they are full of pain.

"No, it doesn't." Ron mutters, turning back to firewhiskey. Harry doesn't stop him.

No one does anymore.

--

Ron's office consisted of nothing more than a few file cabinets, a measly desk and a chair. There were papers puddled on the floor, papers decorating his walls, and papers that scattered themselves as they pleased, almost as though they were enchanted. It soon grew to be very frustrating, seeing papers, papers, papers all day long.

But he had long since decided that it was necessary to have all these papers. The closer they put him to Hermione, the better. His thoughts often drifted to her when he was working now. During the first few months, he swore that he would keep his mind from her. It proved to be impossible.

Now he recalled the thickness to her brown hair, the furrow of her brow, the slenderness of her legs. It was easy to imagine the purity of her eyes, the ink-stained fingers, the sometimes bitter and sometimes soft voice. He clearly remembered the ease of her kiss, the velvet of her tongue, the--

"Ready to go, Ron?" Dean's voice alerted Ron out of his daze.

"Erm, yeah," he replied roughly as he gathered yet a few more papers and followed Dean through the doorway.

--

"We're here to see Mr. Calhoun," Ron stated promptly to the receptionist at St. Mungo's. She looked at him a little oddly, but when he started to reach into his pocket, she said, "No, no, it's just... Your face. You look very familiar."

Ron shifted his weight from one foot to another. Of course she knew his face; he'd been all over the Prophet when the war ended. "Um, my name is Ron Weasley, miss." A look of surprise and realization came to her features, but before she could reply he said, "Now please, I need to see Mr. Calhoun. I'm on Ministry business." She nodded quickly and gave him directions to the room.

"Amazing what a name and face can get you, eh?" Dean said as they marched down the hall. Ron mumbled something in response but kept his eyes on the tiles before him, scanning the room numbers until he landed on it; 1167. He pushed the door open without knocking.

Edward Calhoun looked the entire opposite of being Obliviated four days previous. His face was bright and full of color, his body propped up against some pillows while he read a book. He bore no wounds anymore; the Healers took care of things quickly here.

"Hello, Mr. Calhoun, my name is Ron Weasley. I need to ask you some questions about your... incident." Ron held out his hand but Calhoun did not shake it, just merely looked at him with a very Luna Lovegood type of expression. Ron took a seat without a word, wondering faintly if Luna had any distant relatives she hadn't bothered to mention. It would have been typical for her.

"Is this for a medical report or something?" Calhoun asked, marking the page in his book.

"No, we're on… political business. The place that you escaped from has prisoners whom we're trying to retrieve. Can you tell me anything at all about the Convergence you were kept in?"

"Convergence? I don't know anything about a Convergence. I don't remember anything at all from that place except that I was told by a pretty young lady how to get out. And I thought I was in a bank, not some Convergence place. What is a bloody Convergence, anyway?"

"First of all, Mr. Calhoun, a Convergence is a secret location where Muggle-borns and non-pureblood witches and wizards are kept prisoner by the Dark Lord Voldemort. You were taken prisoner because you are Muggle-born. Are you following me?"

"Yeah, the Healers told me all that. But they didn't tell me I was in some prison," said Calhoun.

"Can you tell me anything about the woman who told you how to escape?" asked Ron, trying to avoid telling Calhoun that yes, indeed, he was imprisoned.

"I don't remember her name, but she was real smart. I mean, the kid had brains. She just told me how to get out of there, so I did. Dunno why she told me of all people. Can't remember why she didn't escape herself, probably something to do with being noble or the like. Anyway, call in a Healer. I need some pudding."

"No, Mr. Calhoun, you don't understand. You really can't remember anything else about the woman?" Ron felt no need to ask. He was sure he knew who it was by now.

"No, I bloody well can't. Please leave." Calhoun grew irritated quickly, so Ron and Dean left the room.

"Hey, sounded like we got some valuable information back there. And he gave us a good idea who the witch was, eh?" said Dean as they walked down the hallway.

"The perfect idea," Ron replied, grinning.

"Want to go get a drink with Seamus to celebrate?"

"Celebrate? I haven't got time to do that. I have to get back to work. I could have the presentation ready in two days!" He turned to face his coworker.

"Well, then, I'll see you tomorrow. Spending five hours in that office with paperwork calls for a drink. Have fun, mate." Dean spun on the spot and he was gone.

_Two days, Hermione, Ron pleaded. Please, just be okay for two more days._

--

While she was sure there had been worse times in her life, Hermione Granger wanted nothing more than to die.

Her holding cell was occupied with nine other Muggle-borns, two of whom were dying and one who was going insane. She had tried to will whatever magic was left in her to save them, but without her spirit or wand, there was nothing she was able to do. She's been listening to them cry for two days. It would be devastating when the weeping stopped, and then she would start anew.

Every month, or so it seemed, the cell-mates were replaced with a new group of Muggle-borns. She was the only witch to stay in one cell. Hermione didn't know why, but she assumed it was because of her status and rank with Harry Potter. She knows his strengths, his weaknesses. And she knows that at least one of them is searching. She knows that despite her wish for death, she will live; she has to. She knows that if she can survive long enough, Ron will find her and she will recover.

She also knows how to get out of this _fucking_ place.

But the Death Eaters don't know that.

She told one man who was kind to her and who had enough physical strength to do it. Without access to the _Daily Prophet_, she had no idea if he made it out alive or not. What was going on in the world now? Did Harry and Ginny get married? Did George settle down? Are elves being treated correctly? Will she be able to return to Hogwarts for her seventh year after all this is done?

Will she be alive for a seventh year?

_Not here._ She promised herself. _I will not live a seventh year here._

Long ago, Hermione had promised herself that she would not fall into the claws of insanity. She has only managed to keep this promise by thinking of her life outside of the walls, the one that seems like another life entirely, one that didn't seem to belong to her. She often thought of Ginny's laughter, George's jokes, Molly's cooking, Charlie's tales, Percy's pompous ways, her parents who were still lost in Australia. Had they been killed, too? She might never know.

But most often, she thought of Harry and Ron. It was Harry's raven hair and green eyes, those broken glasses that kept her from pulling out her hair in the middle of the night. It was Ron's blue, blue eyes, his blazing red hair and his interwoven scars that told her to keep prevailing onward, to ignore all other pleas. They were her family, her only reason to fight any longer; they were her absolution.

Hermione's thoughts usually stray to how awful were the roommates she always received, always the too talkative or too quiet. Always the dying or always the crazy. Always the crying, always the afraid, always the pleading and aching, shaking, breaking, surrendering to a gunman who would not shoot. She seems to be the only strong one left.

Calhoun hadn't been so weak. He had complained about the lack of blood in his arse when he had to sit too long sometimes, but he kept up a nice conversation for the most part. He was interesting and fatherly. The first weeks here would have been hell for Hermione had it not been for him. He kept her mind buzzing, still thirsting for the knowledge she was used to having by this point in the year. _Is it snowing at Hogwarts now?_

If he had not been there, she wouldn't have continued thinking, and she wouldn't have figured out how to escape. That's why the first escape was his.

_I wouldn't have been able to make the escape anyway,_ Hermione reasoned with herself after Calhoun had gone. _They're keeping me in one cell for a reason, and that's not to make me lose my mind. They want something from me. But what is it?_

_Do they want me to plan something for them? A plan to capture the world? A genocide for my own people?_ Though she had gone over these options countless times, she reviewed them each day.

Today was the marking day, the day to change cells. Hermione had long since lost count of how many changes had been made since she arrived, but someone always seemed to have the dates stuck in their head.

"This is the twentieth rotation I've got and still, they haven't killed me." A young girl, probably fifteen or so, walked into the cell. Pain struck Hermione's heart at the girl's boldness and strong sense of will. She reminded her so much of Ginny.

"Are you a Muggle-born?" Hermione asked the girl, who turned around quickly at the voice speaking to her.

"Nah, I'm half blooded. I'm from America, too, so I can't figure out why they're keeping me with a bunch of British kids." She looked around. "No offense or anything. It'd be nice if I could be around someone who might have a clue of what's going on in America rather than Europe."

"And you've been through twenty rotations, you say?" Hermione pressed.

"Yeah, as of today. How many have you been through?" She took a seat next to the bright witch.

Hermione shook her head. "I haven't moved since day one. They've kept me in this cell since these places were started. I was one of the first prisoners, actually." She felt like she was gloating, despite the downward tone to her voice.

She observed the girl; shoulder length brown hair accompanied by striking green eyes fell loosely around her shoulders. She wasn't tall, only reaching Hermione's collarbone but the air she had about her made her seem like one of the biggest people in the room. Her hands often rested on her hips when she stood, as she was now, pacing the room while the other eight prisoners cowered together in a corner.

"So you're the one of the kids with that Potter guy." She stated, her eyes falling on Hermione's forehead for some strange reason.

"Yes, I was. Is that of any interest to you?"

The girl shook her head. "Oh, no, it's just that one of the people that helped the Boy Hero almost kill Voldemort is standing in my presence." She made a sort of flattered gesture, sarcasm heavy in her voice. "You know, all that shit that Muggles do." She turned around and made a very nasty gesture to one of the people who scoffed from the corner. "I'm Amanda."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Hermione Granger." She didn't bother extending her hand.

"So you say you were one of the first here, eh?" Amanda asked, taking a seat next to her. She smells like fresh flowers despite her number of rotations. Hermione is sure she smells something like a troll, really, with this no bathing nonsense. She makes a mental note to not raise her arms unless asked to.

"Yes. I don't know exactly why I'm here, but I'm sure it has something to do with helping Voldemort conquer the world. Something of that matter."

"They say you're the brightest witch of your age."

"You tell me." Amanda nods approvingly.

"So if you're one of the smartest kids around, they're gonna want you to invent something. Or help them invent something. I dunno. Maybe they just want to keep you so that you can't help out the other side."

"I don't think I'd be any good at inventing anything," Hermione said.

"I've heard all you did for the first few years in school was read and help Harry Potter fight Voldemort. You've obviously got some kind of talent for quick learning." Amanda says and Hermione thinks that her hands should be on her hips again, with the way she's talking to her.

"I suppose..." She replies and she looks away. She looks away from the grey, grated walls of her cell, looks away from the cold stone floor, looks away from the terrified prisoners. She turns away from the dirt on her feet, under her fingernails, turns away from the lack of light and the unbrushed hair she hasn't managed to keep tame. She turns her back on it all and thinks of home.

Home was red hair and freckles. Home was backyard Quidditch matches at the Burrow. Home was waking up to a family of six or more, waking up to the smell of eggs and bacon cooking themselves in the kitchen. Home was books and quills and ink. Home was learning, studying, casting, hexing, cursing. Home was magic. Home was Harry, Ginny, George, Molly, Arthur; home was even Percy.

Home was Ron.

--

Ron snapped his eyes open, sitting up abruptly and breathing heavily. What had he just been dreaming? Sweat covered all parts of his body, making the sheets stick to his back in the most unpleasant of ways. He peeled them off his skin, trying to slow his racing heart. He looked around the room with timid and fearful eyes.

Light hadn't traveled over the horizon just yet. His clothes were hanging on the chair where he'd put them the night before, all set for work in the morning. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Ron shook his head and tried to get the emptiness of the dream out of his mind and stood, heading for the shower. _Might as well start getting ready if I can't go back to sleep,_ he thought, the water coming out of the spout with a flick of his wand.

As the warm water ran over his tense body, Ron tried to collect what little of the dream he could. What had it been? Snake eyes and... a door? What about a door? That didn't make sense. There weren't doors that looked like the one in his dream, with big brass handles and black paint, a small doorknob and the most intricate of patterns. A snake coiling around a skull? Only one man--being--would have that on his door, but what did it have to do with his dream?

He'd been running, that much he can remember. Running towards the door? Running away? Voldemort held prisoners; was that one of his torture chambers? But did he torture prisoners directly, or was it just his followers? What pleasure would he have in torturing if it wasn't Harry, or Harry's loved ones?

_Hermione._

Was Hermione being tortured?

Ron shut off the water as quickly as possible, enchanting himself dry and throwing his clothes on as fast as he could. A spell here to clean his teeth; another there to apply cologne. He managed to run his hands over the red mop of hair before he slung his tie around his neck. It was still loose as he Apparated to the Ministry.

Auror Weasley sprinted down the corridors to his office and filed through the endless mounds of paper. Case 3 Convergence 12. No good. Case 1 Convergence 1-4. No, what was the number? Shouldn't he have remembered this by now? _Hermione, think of Hermione,_ he told himself. Telling himself that was unnecessary, he knew, but nevertheless he found what little information there was on the case.

Of course, it was Case 2 Convergence 7.

With the most determined expression on his face, he gathered a briefcase full of sloppy handwriting, crumpled papers and proposals and made his way down to Kingsley's office. The Minister's office.

The corridors seemed eerily bare for the time of day, but Auror Weasley paid it no attention as he rushed past the chilled, black stone of the walls, the sounds of his footsteps echoing behind him.

"I need to speak with the Minister." Auror Weasley's voice was hard, cold as he spoke with the secretary. "It's urgent."

"I'm sorry, but the Minister is in a meeting at the moment. You may wait over there if you please, or make an appointment and come back later this week." The secretary's voice was too soft, too sweet, and Auror Weasley wanted nothing more than to grab her by the collar and shake her.

He turned around and headed straight for Kingsley's door, opening it with only the thought of getting closer to finding Hermione.

The Minister of Magic looked up from a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and smiled slightly at the sight of Auror Weasley. He gestured to one of the seats near his desk and Auror Weasley sat down quickly, his words coming in a rush.

"There's a door, see, and it's got to be the torture chamber. The personal one, you know, for Lord Voldemort. It's got the Dark Mark on it, it's got to be his. He's got Hermione, Kingsley, I've got to get her. I know he has her and he's doing horrible, horrible things to her. I can feel it. Please, let me go on the field expedition." Kingsley put up a hand.

He looked at his Auror for a moment. "Do you have evidence of this door and chamber?" Of all the papers Ron had brought, not one mentioned anything about a door. He had only his memories to back him up. He rifled through everything he had brought, lifting the impressively full briefcase onto his Minister's desk. Nothing was going to work.

"I... No, I don't, but--"

"I can't let you do anything without solid evidence, Ron." Kingsley spoke with a soft voice, trying to ease the tense posture his Auror had.

"But, sir, I really--"

"Auror Weasley, I cannot let you do anything as an Auror that will give you permission to search for Hermione Granger." Ron choked on the words that were curling up his throat. He looked at his Minister, surprised.

"You mean, I can go looking for her as a wizard?"

"As a wizard, with no proof that you are an Auror. If you meet anyone who would potentially threaten you, you cannot release the information that you are an Auror. You may use all spells we have taught you in training, but _do not_, by any means, let your enemy know that you are an Auror. This could cause a great danger to our department. I would love to have some others help you, Ron, but I can't put any of my employees in a more life-threatening situation than they are in now."

Auror Weasley was cold again, just as he always was, as he took in the information. No help, but he could use the curses, hexes, defensive spells? They had come in handy over the past few years, that was for sure. If he was properly prepared, it was clear to him that he would be able to find the main Convergence. He would be able to find Hermione.

He nodded quickly, shortly, tuned back into his inner self. He was only with Kingsley, after all. "Thank you, sir. Should I file a report of my absence to look less suspicious?"

"It would be of no use, as everyone here knows who you will be looking for. I will have my secretary fill everything out for you if it becomes necessary." Kingsley stood, offering his hand to Ron. "You better be safe, understand? The last thing I want to do is report to your family."

"You don't do reports for families, sir." Ron replied, shaking the Minister's hand roughly.

"I do for the families I'm fond of." He winked, grinned, then added, "Feel free to go through the supplies we have in the storage closets. Your brother, George, is also adapting a new form of Shield Cloaks for your department. Drop in on him and let him know that you need one of his prototypes." His gaze became stern. "You are telling your family about this?"

"Of course. It would drive them mad if I went off somewhere without letting them know where I'm going... I've done it once before. I almost regret that I have to do it again. At least this time they'll know what I'm looking for." He met Kingsley's gaze. "But sir, I have to find her. I just... I have to."

"I understand, Ron. Now go, get ready. Let me know when you're leaving so I can ring in with Mr. Thomas. I'll have someone replace you temporarily while you're off."

"I'd like to have the Burrow be the last place I leave, if you don't mind." Kingsley only nodded and waved off his Auror as he grabbed a quill and a fresh piece of parchment.

And just like that, Ron was sure he could fly.

--

_I've never felt so broken._ Hermione thought as darkness swelled around her cell. Amanda lay next to her, the easy pattern of her breathing soothing her. She'd not yet been able to find sleep in this rotation, and while this was common, Hermione was growing irritated. Amanda's head rested near her thigh and Hermione briefly recalled the afternoon conversation they had shared.

_"What did you do in America?" Hermione had asked while her hands worked diligently on braiding the young girl's hair. Keeping her hands in motion was a good way for her mind to keep off of other things, she had long since decided._

"I was still a student, but I studied the Convergences more than other students did. I understood them far more than any of my classmates could comprehend." Amanda had grown silent for a moment or two. "My father is in here, somewhere. I vowed that I would find him if I ever could. Those chances... they seem slim now. But I still have that faith. I'll find him. I just know I will."

If only she could fly. Hermione thought. _If only she could find her father and be out of this wicked place._ She turned her gaze from the black ceiling to the girl beside her.

"I'll get you out of here," she whispered, a hand going into the short brown hair. She was positive that she felt the young witch stir in response.

"I promise."

Hermione knew that dawn was approaching hours later. The walls turned from their distinct shade of grey to a lighter tone of such. She had spent many nights awake while she was here during the first few rotations. Finding comfort among the other prisoners was nearly impossible, as they kept huddled to themselves or within their rotation groups. Of course, they were lucky to stay within the same rotation. The more sympathetic Death Eaters let them stay just like that, keeping their fear to a heightened level. They become family, eventually. If they die, it causes more fear, more fright and gives the Death Eaters all the more reason to keep them with the same people.

Hermione had long ago figured this out. It was exactly the reason she befriended few, kept to herself and tried to remember anything and everything she had learned at Hogwarts that might aid her in escaping.

Keeping to herself had led her to the discovery of escape, believe it or not. Reviewing all the adventures with Harry and Ron, all the strategic and nonstrategic methods of dodging death, relearning the twelve uses of dragon's blood, remembering all that McGonagall and Lupin had taught her had led to the simply complicated enigma of _getting out._

Lupin, who had taught her how to fight off a boggart. McGonagall, who had taught her to turn eyebrows yellow. Snape, who had taught her how to manage a bezoar. (Although, she had already known that, but being taught was... something else.) Binns, who had taught her the dates to all medieval battles of wizards and witches. Trelawney, who had taught her how to read tea cups, even if she had never mastered the art.

Was there nothing she could use to escape? Was pure Muggle knowledge all she needed?

The adventures with Harry and Ron were different. With Harry, she had learned to conjure a Patronus, learned to fight off opponents that were ten times stronger but stupider than she. With Harry, she had learned to stay alert, how to battle in real combat, how to survive against the odds. With Harry, she had learned to work without books, without words, without directions and to merely improvise as if she were a musician in the most dangerous of performances.

With Ron, she had learned to love.

--

_"We've got to be quiet," he whispered, opening the door to his room as quickly and quietly as he could. Hermione followed him in swiftly._

"Where's Harry?" she asked.

"Fred and George's room. I've been giving him more space since his and Ginny's thing ended." He shrugged. "If I just had to break it off with someone I didn't want to, I'd be that way too."

"Well, it was thoughtful of you." Hermione commented and sat down on his bed, admiring the small knick knacks that covered his shelves, and even though she didn't care much for Quidditch, she loved all of Ron's posters.

"I remember Harry telling me about these," she said, fingering the bedspread, pointing at his decorations.

"When did he tell you about them?"

"First year. Sometimes he would visit me in the library to, you know, comfort me. It was when you and I were still…"

"Rough?" he offered, taking a seat beside her.

She smiled. "Yeah."

They were silent for a moment or two, but then Ron moved his hand under hers and their fingers twined together. Hermione was vaguely reminded of the battle at Hogwarts during their sixth year and how she had been so frightened, so scared that she would lose him…

"I'm glad things aren't like that now." His voice came back to her ears. She noticed it was a bit stronger than it usually was when they talked about things like this, the more special, more intimate things.

"Me too, Ron. Me too." He smiled softly and, without warning, leaned over to kiss her cheek. She was startled, she admitted, but the feeling of his warm, sweet lips caressing her cheek, if only for the smallest second, was enough to make the world disappear for a while.

"I'm scared." She whispered to him, closing her eyes. His grip tightened on her fingers.

"Why?" he asked, his tone curious; he knew why, the git, but he wanted to hear it, wanted to hear her confessions.

Her voice quivered as she spoke, in the quietest words, "I could lose you."

Ron moved so that he was kneeling in front of her, his hands in both of hers. His blue eyes sparkled intensely, much like they did when they were battling for their lives. Hermione wondered briefly if he found this to be of the same difficulty.

"You won't lose me, Hermione." He said. A tear slid down her face and she moved forward, putting her arms around his neck. She sobbed quietly into the shoulder of her best friend, of the boy she had loved since she had been saved from the mountain troll when she was eleven years old. His warm embrace helped her, moved her along to meet with the fear she was unwilling to acknowledge.

Hermione looked up, looked into the pale blue eyes for what she hoped would be one of just millions of more times. She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his with so little pressure.

Their first kiss was tender, sweet, and it removed all fear that Hermione had previously had before. She wouldn't lose him. She wouldn't ever lose Ron.

Their first kiss was home.

--

"Fuck," Amanda moaned from beside her, beginning to wake. Her hand moved to her head, small fingers grazing a certain spot over and over again on her scalp.

"Good morning," Hermione said cheerily, glad to have the company she had long desired awake. Amanda looked at her with groggy eyes and sat up, stretching her arms, flattening her hair.

"Don't you ever sleep?" she muttered, brushing off some of the dirt that had accumulated on her ripped clothes.

The older woman didn't answer her question, but said, "Did you do something do your head?"

"I always wake up with morning headaches. They hurt like fuck." Hermione didn't understand such a synonym, but discarded it as useless. In the time she had been with Amanda, she had found out that discarding sayings like that were best, rather than questioning them.

"So tell me something," Amanda said, looking at Hermione. She raised her eyebrows in response. "Who's Ron?"

"What?"

"Who's Ron? You mumble about him sometimes. Who is he?"

"Oh... Ron..."

Amanda smirked. "I see."

Hermione shook her head. "It's not like that. Well, it is, but--well, we've never--there wasn't any--we aren't together. I've known him since I was eleven and he's saved my life on more than one occasion. He's my best friend."

"Are you in love with him?"

Hermione paused. "I don't know. But I have this feeling that he's looking for me. Sometimes that's the only thing that keeps me from going insane in this wretched place."

"Tell me about him," Amanda said, stretching again. Her voice hinted interest.

"Erm, well, he's got red hair and a lot of freckles. Everyone in his family does, but his little sister Ginny has the most. Ginny is probably the closest female friend I've got since I've known her for so long. He has five brothers; Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred and George." She frowned. "Well, he had five. Fred was killed during the war, but he and George were twins."

"Wow, big family. Two parents, I assume?"

Hermione nodded. "Yeah, Ron's... he's a bit lazy. I ended up writing most of his essays while we were at Hogwarts. He and I were in the same house, had a few classes together in first year. We didn't get along at first, but then he and Harry rescued me from a troll and we were... we were best friends after that. We have been ever since."

"No conflicts with other girls?"

"There was one... when we were sixteen. But he admitted that he was a git and... well, he came back to me."

Amanda just smiled.

--

Ron, while he was sitting at his desk, felt the slightest breeze rustle his clothes. He lifted his head and the smell that had wafted into the room was fresh parchment.

Fresh parchment only made him think of one person.

--

"How many weeks have we been in this rotation?"

"Three. I'll be gone in nine days."

_I've only nine days before she leaves?_ Hermione thought.

"Amanda, I need you to listen to me." She said, turning towards her and putting a hand on her shoulder. _Better now than ever._ She dropped her voice down to a whisper. "Did you ever hear about Calhoun?"

The American nodded quickly, said, "Yeah, he was the guy who escaped. What about him?" Hermione paused, waiting for the information to ripen. This was her secret, her final ingredient to the potion that would save her life. Would she be able to turn the flames just a little bit higher to see what would result? Could she experiment just once more?

_"I told him how to escape."_

Amanda blinked. Once, twice, three times. She grabbed the rags Hermione wore, right near where her collar would be. The look her eyes were fierce, hard, determined. It was frightening. Hermione put her hands on the witch's shoulders, too timid to do anything more intimate. Amanda's grip grew tighter.

"Get me the fuck out of here, Hermione."

--

Dinner at the Burrow was nothing less than chaotic. Of course, if it was nothing less than such, it wouldn't really be considered dinner at the Burrow. Dishes were always scattered, hands were always reaching for more rolls or soup or roast, red hair was always whipping around as the owner spoke to one person or another. Three conversations could be going on at once and no one would be aware of it.

But it was dinner at the Burrow, so things were always the same.

Ron pulled up his collar as he stepped inside his home, shaking off some of the snow that had gathered during his walk from the Apparition point. Snow covered the backyard now, layering trees like dust and littering the ground in mountains. He flicked his wand and his boots were dry, his cloak hung on the coat rack like his mother insisted.

Ginny turned around from her place by the fire, Harry solidly by her side, and smiled in her warm and usual greeting. George looked up and said a surprisingly chipper 'hello,' giving Luna reason to turn in a peculiar position from his lap and look at Ron dazedly. She smiled her small, gentle smile at him, that glassy look still covering her features.

Ginny moved from her spot on the couch and stood, adjusting her loose emerald turtleneck that their mother had bought ("It even matches Harry's eyes!") her for her birthday this past year. She made her way over to her brother, wrapping her arms around him briefly before saying, "Hey, Ron."

"Hey, Gin," was his reply as he looked around, seeing Bill and Fleur talking with his dad, baby Victoire in Fleur's arms. "Am I late?"

"As always. Mum doesn't care, though, she said the roast needed a bit more time anyway."

"Good ol' Mum." Ron looked around the room again, as if to take in everything he would be leaving behind for possibly the last time. There was no telling where his journey would take him, only that he would be searching for her. They would understand. They were his family.

It was a good hour later that Molly called them all to the table. Ginny muttered something under her breath about wonderful timing and Harry sniggered. Luna was speaking to George with that far off voice, the one that normally suited her features but tonight she was wearing a plain blue summer dress that made her look elegant and casual at the same time. George, in his Weasley sweater, looked somewhat feeble compared to her, but he looked at her with such a... Ron didn't know what to call it.

He noticed that very same look on his father, on Bill, on Fleur as she stared down at her baby Victorie, even on Harry. Ron shook his head and dipped into his meal.

Another hour passed and everyone was loosening their belts or stretching their sweaters with a bit of a charm. He found this to be the appropriate time to announce his adventure.

"Erm, I've got something to tell you all." He said, looking down the table. All the red hair turned in his direction, plus the black and the blond.

"I'm going to look for Hermione soon."

"But you've already been looking for her for years, Ron." His mother said.

"No, no... Kingsley said that I can't go looking as an Auror," Ginny stared at him with fearful eyes, an emotion he was willing to forget. "But as a wizard." There was a rustle of protest.

"No! You can't go!" from Bill.

"Are you mad? You don't even know where the bloody things are!" from George.

"Now sweetie, I'm sure there's another way," from Molly.

"Come now, Ron, there isn't a need to rush into these decisions," from Arthur.

Harry, however, looked at him with understanding and nodded, saying nothing and keeping to himself. Ron mentally sighed in relief; Harry would know, of all people. He had been hoping he would be able to back him up on this. With his best mate's support, he would be able to set out on this journey, even if his family wanted to keep him back.

Ron turned his head to his little sister. "Gin?"

All heads turned to his little sister. She sat, her eyes locked on the plate in front of her while everyone held their breath. Her flaming hair fell in front of her cheeks as she moved her mouth to form words. Nothing came out. She tucked the loose strands behind her ear, closed her jaw and looked Ron in the eye.

What he found there was determination.

"If you're going, then I'm going with you."

Several Weasleys slapped their hands down on the table in unison, anger and fear blanketing their faces.

"Ginny, do you realize what kind of risk you're taking if you do this?" shouted Bill.

"Oh, and I suppose that Ron isn't taking the same risks as I would be, is that how it is?" she yelled back, rising from her seat.

"You haven't had the proper training--" her mother said in reply, rising from her seat as well.

"Five bloody fucking years in this fucking war doesn't count as training?" Ginny said, her face matching her hair as she looked at every member of her family individually. "All you lot very well know that I've had more near death experiences than most of those Auror pricks! Why am I not qualified to go looking for Hermione?"

There was a long pause, before, "We can't lose you." Everyone turned to Luna. She was staring directly at Ginny. Their eyes seemed to meet but Ron couldn't tell; he was still shocked by the outburst.

"Isn't it up to me if I'm lost or not?" Ginny asked quietly, still standing.

"Ginny," Ron said, "You can come with me if you like. I have no doubt that you'll be able to help me a great deal and I know you won't have a problem at all keeping up. But here's the compromise." He took a breath. "If one of us gets hurt, we _have_ to come home. From there we'll take the necessary steps to healing. If it's needed, we'll go to St. Mungo's first, but home is the main priority. Got it? If you don't see me eye to eye with this, I'm not going to let you tag along."

The youngest Weasley sat down and nodded slowly. "I understand."

"You two are honestly going to go through with this?!" Bill shouted, his face flushed.

"Bill, if Fleur was missing, wouldn't you do the same thing?" Ron said calmly.

Without hesitating, Bill replied, "Of course, but--"

"Then I don't understand why you don't see the things the way I'm seeing them. I _have_ to find Hermione, Bill. If I don't, then the past three years will have been wasted."

The eldest Weasley looked around hurriedly. His eyes landed on Harry. "What do you have to say about this?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not taking part in the expedition. What I've been doing for the past few years is still part of my job. I still have to find a way to finish off Voldemort. Ron always said that once he brought Hermione home, we would work on it together. I could really use Hermione right now, with her mind and all, but I still have to keep researching and hunting and doing my own explorations. I can't afford to lose a day. Seeing you lot once a week is the only contact I have with the outside world right now. I'm sure you know that Ginny and I don't exchange owls anymore If she's been supporting me through this without me giving her a whole lot of information, I've got to support her." He met Bill's eyes. "I thought that you would know better than me that if Ginny wants to do something, she'll do it."

Bill took his seat again, his face turned white. "So you're really going to go, Ginny?"

His sister replied, "Yes."

For the first time during the conversation, Arthur spoke. "When will you be taking off?"

Ron turned to face his father. "As soon as possible. I was hoping that I could leave directly after dinner, but now that Ginny is going, we'll be leaving later tonight. I have to contact Kingsley and let him know what's going on." Arthur nodded slowly in reply.

"Well then." He sighed, sitting back in his chair.

Ron glanced at his mother, who looked extremely flustered, and took one last bite of his dinner.

"Great roast, by the way, Mum." he said, cheekily grinning as though the world had never shined brighter.


	2. Chapter 2

"Please be careful," Hermione whispered to her young friend, putting a hesitant hand on her shoulder. They had gone over everything at least four times now, from repeating the directions to drawing suspicious diagrams into the dirt beneath their feet.

"You know I will, stop worrying." Amanda waved her off but smiled. "I'll report our location to the Ministry once I'm out, alright?"

"Please, get in contact with Ron."

"I will. I'll make sure his little ass is on its way here as soon as I'm done talking to—"

"Who will you be talking to, you filthy half-breed?"

Hermione froze. That voice was… it was too familiar—

"Ah, the little mudblood has made friends with the half-breed." Bellatrix Lestrange snarled, her wicked black dress billowing around her ankles. Her expression was fierce, masked into the most distorted anger Hermione had ever seen. The powerful witch spat at her feet, seeming to positively growl in her disgust with the Muggle-born. How she had gotten in the cell, Hermione did not know.

"What do you want?" Amanda snapped, clearly having no idea how much danger they were in by just standing in Bellatrix's presence.

With a flash of red light, Amanda was thrown against the wall with a gratifying thump. She shook her head but made no move to get back up. Bellatrix's gaze returned to Hermione. Hermione had never felt her heart race faster.

"The Dark Lord requests a meeting with you, Granger." Her voice was ice, her wand sliding in between her slender, bony fingers.

"B-but… wh—"

"We'll be cleaning you up so that your presence may actually be worth something." She said, ignoring Hermione's stutter of protest. "Come." She roughly grabbed Hermione by the wrist and Apparated on the spot. They landed, Hermione with a stumble, in the middle of a blank room with only a washtub and a pair of clothes.

"Narcissa will be along shortly to make sure you don't cause any trouble." Bellatrix sneered, turning on the spot with a small _pop._ Hermione wanted to know how she was managing to Disapparate with almost no sound. But that wasn't of her greatest concern, she realized, when Narcissa Malfoy walked into the room with a cold, blank expression on her face.

Her wrist moved quickly, mechanically and Hermione heard water start to flow into the tub.

"Strip." Narcissa ordered and Hermione obliged quickly, removing what remained of her clothing with almost no motion at all; the rags just hung at her sides.

She wouldn't have caught it if she wasn't looking, but Hermione saw Narcissa's face soften for the slightest second when Hermione's ribs were exposed, when her knobby knees were bare and when the bones of her arms were apparent. Indeed, the only thing with most of its original weight was her untamable hair, and even that was growing weak and starting to thin.

But then the cold and blank satire returned and Narcissa Malfoy grabbed Hermione stiffly by the arm and led her into the tub. Hermione wanted to sigh contentedly at the warmth and cleanliness the water offered her, but she knew better than to enjoy this. She scrubbed herself down hurriedly, making sure to cover each area of her body.

"Your hair," Narcissa said, casting a Detangling Charm. Hermione obeyed and submerged her head under the water, lingering for a moment longer than needed and came up with a small gasp.

"Up." Narcissa commanded. Hermione climbed out of the tub, being careful not to slip, and stood before Narcissa Malfoy with her arms calmly at her side. She had figured out that the older witch was not here to torture her or relocate her, but monitor her. True, she was not as intimidating at Bellatrix, but if Narcissa had moved her wand too quickly, Hermione would have screamed.

Narcissa wordlessly cast a few more charms and Hermione was dry, her hair neater than it had been in three years. She muttered a thanks but Narcissa didn't respond, only gestured to the clothes that were waiting for her.

The robes were a solid black, nothing more and nothing less. Hermione put them on and did let out a small sigh this time, for the feeling of clean, cool, soft fabric ghosting against her skin had been a feeling she missed. Having it back again was like having whiskey after a year of sobriety.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Narcissa Malfoy smirk.

"Eat this," she said, shoving a loaf of bread into Hermione's hands. When she had finished, Narcissa said, "We will treat you afterwards as well, if you please the Dark Lord." She looked at Hermione as though she was a bad pupil who was being sent to the headmaster's office. "I would advise you to please him, Granger."

Hermione nodded.

"Come. The Dark Lord is waiting."

Hermione followed Narcissa down a long hallway after a door had appeared from the darkness. The door at the end of the corridor was marble, covered in the design of a snake coiling from a skull. Though she had seen it numerous times in her life, Hermione still shuddered whenever she encountered it. The Dark Mark was nothing to joke about.

"Enter." Said a blank voice from the other side of the door before Narcissa knocked. She pushed the door open and looked at Hermione, giving her access. Hermione entered without question.

Voldemort's quarters were dark. That's the only word she could think to describe it as she looked around; dark objects covered the shelves on the walls, a large map with red and green marks took up the majority of the wall behind Voldemort's throne, and there he sat, in a large and sturdy chair. He had his fingers pressed together, his lips pursed, as though he was a child tired of waiting for a rather important present. He radiated power, death, but the thing that Hermione could detect most was his air of hatred. His eyes were blood red as he stared down at her, waiting.

Hermione could only think to bow.

Voldemort chuckled and said, "You seemed to have learned, Ms. Granger, without us having to teach you anything at all."

Hermione thought it would be best to keep silent until she was addressed.

"I am sure you're wondering why I've summoned you." Voldemort said idly, twirling his wand between his fingers. He glanced at her and she decided that it would be better to nod. "Narcissa, pull up a chair for our guest, please."

Hermione felt something bump the back of her knees and she instinctively sat down on whatever they had given her. She put her hands on her lap and looked at Voldemort intently, trying her best to keep a calm expression on her face. She was sure it wasn't fooling him at all.

"As you know," Voldemort started, "I am trying to rid the world of Muggle-borns and half-bloods. While I can, indeed, send my loyal Death Eaters on missions to annihilate any Muggle town I please, it is becoming boring and I need a faster means of execution.

"We kept you here for so long because, as you may have guessed, we were trying to lure your friends here, mainly Harry. After three years, we have given up that sliver of hope and we now are trying a new approach."

Voldemort looked at Hermione then, looked into her eyes and she shivered as she saw herself being torn apart. She kept her gaze firm.

"I want you to invent me a spell that will kill every non-pureblood being on the planet."

--

Ron heard a soft knock on his door. He mumbled, "Come in," and picked up his old picture of him, Harry and Hermione in their third year. Harry was lanky, much like Ron was, and Hermione still had her large teeth. Ron had started to tower over them, he remembered clearly, while Harry was still subtly growing and Hermione… well, Hermione remained the same.

But she always did, so none of them took much notice.

"Are you ready?" Ginny said, taking a seat on his bed. He glanced over at her, putting his picture away after Hermione had grinned up at him. She had left her beaded bag with him and Harry, given it to Ron before they had entered Hogwarts for what would be her last time in years.

_"Just in case," she'd said, kissing him quickly on the cheek._

"Ron?" Ginny said, her voice breaking him from the memory. He shook his head and turned to his sister.

"Yeah, I'm ready." He looked at the small beaded bag again, weighing it in his hand. He held two pictures in there, one of his family in Egypt and the one from his third year, along with a few sets of clothes, a map and a few books. Ginny had put her own picture in there, herself and Harry by the Hogwarts Express before she left for her seventh year, and her own clothes, but that was all she had decided to bring.

"You sure this is everything you need?" Ron checked once more. Ginny folded her arms and nodded, her face hard and determined.

"Mum said she'd pack us some provisions," she said, standing and taking a last look around the orange room. It seemed empty without its pictures and socks gathering dust on the floor, without Pig sitting snugly in his cage on top of Ron's old dresser. Ron had given Pig to George after Ron and Ginny had decided to leave.

"I told George we'd stop by the shop before we officially left." Ron informed his sister. She nodded in response. Together, they stepped down the creaky, crooked stairs and walked into the arms of their sobbing mother. They looked at each other helplessly while they patted her back, but their touch made her wail more.

"H-here… some f-food for w-when you get h-hungry." Molly said, flicking her wand and levitating a basket into the beaded bag.

"Mum, it'll be okay. We'll just be… looking for a friend." Ginny said soothingly.

"Yeah, Mum, don't worry about us. Just think of it as… me going off to Auror training again and Ginny going off to Harpies training." Their mother nodded, dabbing her eyes with her apron.

"Yes, that does sound a great d-deal better…" Molly replied, looking at her two youngest children. "Please, please be careful." She enveloped them both once more in one of her warm and constricting hugs. "I couldn't stand to lose you," she whispered.

Ron glanced at his sister again and saw that a tear was sliding down her cheek. Ron hardly saw Ginny cry. He understood now the sacrifices she was making to go on this expedition with him. He offered a small smile to her when her eyes met his and she grimly smiled in return.

They stood, wrapped in their mother's arms until Molly was ready to release them. She still managed a small, sad smile when they looked back at her as they stepped out of the back door. As it closed, Ginny heard her mother sob a heavy sob. It was one of the most painful things she had ever heard.

Ginny closed her hand around Ron's and looked up at him. "We have to… we have to make it, Ron. We have to."

Her brother nodded and looked at the horizon, the sun creeping below it as though beckoning them to follow it into an eternal distance.

"Don't worry, Gin," he said, his eyes fixed on the sinking hue. "I made a promise to someone. We'll find Hermione.

"We'll make it."

--

Hermione tore her eyes away from Voldemort's hollow gaze, unable to deal with the images she saw there; her friends crawling on the ground, pleading for her to save them, her parents screaming in agony as Bellatrix Lestrange cackled with laughter… and then she saw Ron, with black eyes and a hand outstretched. His voice was inhuman, asking her to save him even though she knew that this Ron had no chance of being saved.

She trembled in her seat but did not try to conceal her fear. Everyone stood still around her, as though waiting for her to speak, but Hermione Granger could only whimper in the presence of her greatest enemy.

"I can make that happen," Voldemort said, his eyes narrowing. "I will make that happen if you do not make me the greatest spell of all time. I will make them suffer, Hermione. _I will kill them."_

It didn't take long for Hermione to give her answer.

"I'll do it." Her voice was broken and full of fright, and though she knew there was no hope of defying his eyes, she still looked at the floor beneath her feet. Her body shook with sobs that hadn't yet been released.

"Look at me," Voldemort said. He was pleased that he didn't have to torture her, even if his dear assistant Bellatrix loved to torture. This was far more convenient and much faster; if only all of his subjects had been this persuadable.

Hermione looked up and met the slits, giving her greatest effort to block out the faux reality. They kept their stare solid, Hermione still quivering.

"You may take your time preparing the spell. What resources do you need to complete the task?" Voldemort's voice was curious, as though he really did want to know how she would be able to accomplish her assignment.

Hermione took a deep breath and said, "Any books that have anything about Dark magic. Basic spell books will be helpful, and any books that have information on the more powerful curses, I'm going to need them. Don't rule out the three Unforgiveables, but I don't know if I'll have to use that information."

"Those three curses are the most powerful in the world, dear girl. Why would you not need the text on their formation and origin?" Voldemort asked. Hermione could tell that he was curious; despite all his study into the Dark Arts, he had never learned emotion?

"While they are powerful, they are not always the most… effective. I know you don't believe in the power of—of love, sir," Hermione clenched her fist as the word came out of her mouth, "but it is powerful, and I think that inventing a spell to kill this many people will have to have something to do with emotion."

"My only emotion towards them," Voldemort hissed coldly, "is hatred."

Hermione nodded. "I understand. I may be able to come up with something that can morph that much hatred into something extremely effective and strong." She looked at the floor and quietly said, "You do understand that I will need to test this spell before I can put it in action, sir?"

"Of course." Voldemort said, and if you had asked her, Hermione would've told you that The Dark Lord Voldemort had actually smiled.

--

"Take these," George Weasley said gruffly, putting two shield cloaks into Ron's arms. "They're the best model Fred and I came up with before the second battle at Hogwarts. They'll repel everything except the Unforgiveables and really, really powerful hexes. Like your Bat-Bogey," he nodded at Ginny, "would pummel through the poor things. It all depends on the caster, really."

"How much emotion they put into it," Ginny frowned. "That's why Harry couldn't torture Lestrange. He didn't want to do it enough."

"Yeah, that's basically it." George said. "That's all I can really give you that might help you… Wait; take some Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. You've no idea when that'll come in handy." He summoned two bottles and put them in the beaded bag that Ron held.

"Thanks, George." Ginny said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek quickly. Ron nodded and said his thanks as well.

Ginny looked around the shop once more; they were the only ones in there, as George had closed the place immediately upon their entrance. The shelves were stocked with products again, Verity's normal duty but George had sent her away as well.

"You're doing better," Ginny mumbled, not meeting his gaze.

"Yep, I reckon I bring in over twenty Galleons a day at this rate, probably more…"

"No, I meant… Without him." Ginny's voice was quiet and this time she looked up at her older brother. She had always connected well with him, and the last few years at Hogwarts she'd had with the twins were cherished. They had become her best friends when she had to start over again after her first year. They taught her to be charming and witty, taught her how to be sly and sophisticated. It was a miracle that Ginny hadn't somehow taken half the ownership of the joke shop, as she was secretly the inspiration for many of the best selling products. It wasn't just the love potions, she knew, or the day dream kits, but some of their more fierce and funny kinks. They—he—would never admit it, but Ginny knew she was the rebound when they—he—had no other ideas.

George's voice was soft and gentle when he spoke, as though he was reassuring Ginny, "Yeah… I'm doing a bit better, I s'pose." He fingered something in his pocket. "It's still hard, though."

Ginny noticed that Ron had stepped into the backroom and was examining some of the other protective products George had for sale.

"He left this with me," George said, taking out a small, silver chained necklace with a charm. "We were going to give it to you for your seventeenth birthday, but… it didn't turn out that way. I think now is as good a time as any."

Ginny held out her hand and George placed the necklace there carefully. She held up the charm, looking hard and she realized that it was a toilet seat, engraved with a tiny Hogwarts crest. She laughed and hugged her brother, silently thanking his other for the memory she had always carried for the two of them.

"I always thought about this, you know, when I was ten, when I wasn't at Hogwarts yet."

"You did?" asked George, hands weaving through her Weasley mane.

"Yeah. I was really disappointed when I didn't get one. I thought you were serious, you guys usually went through with what you said." She smiled into his shoulder. "This is much better, though. Thank you."

"It has engravings on the back… we had your birthday put on there, and I couldn't think what else to put… I put—put that day on there instead. So you would always remember him."

Ginny looked up at him, her eyes watering just a little bit.

"I'll always remember. I promise."

--

"These are all the necessary materials, I presume?" Narcissa Malfoy asked, staring down at Hermione Granger with a look of pity. The Muggle-born had been given a few desks and tables to cover with all her books, parchment and quills. She had needed all the space. They had installed her in the room where she had bathed before meeting Voldemort. Narcissa prodded one of the books with the tip of her wand, as if making sure it wouldn't explode in her face.

"All that I can think of," Hermione replied, setting her quill into ink and raising it to the blank piece of parchment that sat before her. She had no idea where to start.

That was new.

Hermione observed all of the illustrations that decorated the front of the books; there were serpents, mostly, representing the ruler of dark magic, but a few held a raven, and she had seen two that were present with a badger. She had yet to find a lion, though she knew there were Gryffindors that had gone bad. She just wasn't able to name any.

Later on, Hermione asked for very advanced potion books, as if something in one of them would be helpful. She thought back to her extensive study of the Polyjuice Potion in her second year. That had revealed so much information on one subject alone; what could it reveal on spells? What could it reveal in ultimate death?

She had pondered endlessly if there was some sort of punishment for this, a punishment by the ancient magic that was rooted in her veins. She couldn't remember anything that had told her of such punishments, and yet, the thought of her lack of knowledge on the subject did nothing but worry her further.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Narcissa Malfoy's icy voice broke Hermione out of her thought.

Hermione stared at the parchment again, her fingers gripping and regripping her quill. "I just don't know where to begin," she stated, but it was one of the hardest things she had ever done, forcing those words out of her mouth.

Failure was her biggest fear, after all.

--

Ginny and Ron Weasley came to a sudden halt outside the apartments of Grimmauld Place. They both knew that this was a rotten place to start, with all the memories they weren't keen on remembering, and really, the place held a lot of Dark objects that the two of them didn't want to deal with.

But it was the only place they had with which to start, so start with it they did.

As Ron stepped over the threshold into Number 12, Ginny said, "Harry hasn't been keeping this place very clean, has he?"

"You would know better than I," her brother grunted in response, moving slowly past the large portrait by the staircase. She heard the resentment in his voice; he and Harry hadn't been the same since Hermione was captured. It was as though there was a missing link, and even though Ginny had tried desperately, on numerous occasions, to spark their friendship back, it seemed as though only Hermione would be able to repair what damage she had already done. Ginny knew that she would never be able to fill that hole and frankly, she never tried. She had neither Hermione's brains nor fierce determination. Though she had insisted on coming on this journey with Ron to gain her friend back, Ginny really wanted her brother back, and helping him to find Hermione seemed to be the only way to help him at all.

"I don't know what we can find in here," Ron said, breaking through her pool of thought, "but there ought to be some maps or books of some sort that will give us some kind of idea. If we can, we probably need to draw up where the Death Eaters were the last time You-Know-Who came to power."

"Wouldn't that be in the Ministry files?"

Ron shook his head. "I looked a few days ago. There's absolutely nothing about it. I reckon that since this was Headquarters for the Order for so long, they kept some things here that they never really took away. No one knew other than Lupin and Sirius, and it would be dangerous for us to contact McGonagall now that we've said we're on our deathbeds."

Ginny frowned. "I still don't think anyone will believe that."

Ron smiled a little as he knelt down by an old, dusty bookcase. "Come on, a Quidditch injury and a lost duel? It sounded good to me." He began sifting through one of just many volumes of maps, but in the index he found nothing that would be of any use. Everything mainly marked the place of famous duels and kingdoms that were unknown to Muggles for decades before someone broke the charm on accident—

Ron closed the book. He was starting to remind himself of Hermione.

"I suppose it will work… but how long will it take for me to heal from a Quidditch injury? And you from a duel?" she paused but continued without his answer as she delved through an atlas of dates and times that marked the twentieth century. "It would only cover us for a week, at most."

"I told Mum to tell everyone that we had a severe case of something horrible." Ginny laughed and punched his arm affectionately.

"That sounds so promising, Ron."

"Well, Mum would know something to kill us better than I would."

They continued working in silence, but after an hour's worth of reading dates, all the numbers seemed to flow together. The cities seemed irrelevant; Paris was becoming London and Berlin was becoming Beijing. Ron glanced over at his sister and saw that she was struggling to concentrate as well.

"I say we go look around upstairs," he suggested, and when Ginny nodded they stood and quietly climbed the stairs of Number 12.

--

Hermione had been staring at the blank piece of parchment periodically for the last three hours while she flipped through all of the books she had had gathered for her and while she continuously dipped her quill back into the bottle of ink. She was becoming increasingly frazzled with all of the pressure that was suddenly on her shoulders, and yet she still hadn't the faintest clue as to where to start or look or ponder.

She had looked through the entire basic spell book collections that mentioned simple jinxes and hexes, and as the spells became more difficult she realized that more emotion had to be put into the spells. If you really wanted to disarm a wizard like Snape or Dumbledore, your Expelliarmus had to be full of hatred or passion. If it wasn't, you were about as useless as a Mandrake that didn't age.

Then Hermione had gone through the collection of Dark Arts that was brought to her. The books mentioned things she had never even heard of, spells that attracted certain animals and had them do strange things, charms that caused someone's arms to move the wrong way, and hexes that spouted blood from very, very bad places. But mostly, she found that there were things about death and immortality in most cases. The Avada Kedavra curse was mentioned very often, and there were just a few sentences here and there about Horcruxes and the Elixir of Life.

Apparently, she would have to begin by adapting the Killing Curse, but she didn't know how to adapt spells. She didn't have any idea at all.

As stressed as she was by this, Hermione couldn't help but to think back to many of the lessons that Professor McGonagall had taught her. Transfiguration was the magical alteration of objects. But a spell didn't count as an object, did it? She wished she could have asked McGonagall about this, she wished she had known.

Another half hour passed and still, Hermione's parchment was blank. Narcissa Malfoy, who had been sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the room, intently watching the younger witch fret over her assignment, stood and placed herself directly in front of Hermione, waiting for her to look up into the paler face.

"This one," Narcissa said, tapping the tip of her wand to the very first book Hermione had picked up; The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1.

"But I already—"

"You did not check the most common place." Narcissa spun the book to face her and flipped through just a few pages until she found the paragraph she had been looking for.

"The alteration of spells is a tricky and weary process and takes long, vigorous study. However, it is not impossible. Directions to altering spells are only available to those of age. They can be found in the last installment of our collection, The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 8."

Narcissa looked up from the text, her eyebrows raised slightly but otherwise no emotion crossed her features, and reached over to one of the cluttered tables beside Hermione, who was looking at the older woman with her mouth slightly agape. Narcissa pulled out a very thin book, one that did not look to be of the same name as the seven very thick ones that lay before Hermione now, but Hermione extended her hand and took what was offered.

"You'll find it in the middle," Narcissa said, turning her back and sitting back down in the chair on the opposite side of the room, as if nothing had ever occurred.

"But how did you—" Hermione started, looking at the older witch with curiosity.

"You have some studying to do, I believe," Narcissa said, her expression cold. Hermione quickly ducked her head and touched her quill to the parchment, suddenly sure of what to say.

_Ron,_

I'm okay.

I'm close to home.

I know you won't, so don't stop looking for me. I can't tell you where I am because I don't know. I can't tell you what they want with me because they will kill me if I do. But keep looking. Just keep looking.

I believe our fates are intertwined, Ron Weasley. Please have the same faith as well.

Love,

Hermione

She stared at the words, wishing she could attach them to an owl's leg, but no such opportunity would be available. The thought saddened her and she suddenly had the overwhelming urge to bury her face in her arms, right there on top of her letter. For a moment, Hermione Granger didn't move an inch, didn't blink, didn't breathe. Tears slipped from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, blotting the ink on her parchment. She didn't have the energy or courage to wipe them away; she felt exhausted for no apparent reason, as though she had completed a very hard task and it was time to rest.

She didn't even flinch when Narcissa Malfoy stood again, rising above her and casting a shadow over the words Hermione had written. Narcissa picked up the letter hesitantly, as if waiting for Hermione to bark a protest, but when nothing came, she read it quickly and set it back down.

Narcissa placed her wand on the parchment and muttered a spell so softly under her breath that Hermione had not heard it. But by the time Hermione had registered what the older witch was doing, the words had vanished from the page.

"What did you—"

"I have a heart, Granger." Narcissa said coldly, sheathing her wand back into the pocket of her robes. She stared down at Hermione blankly again, and Hermione began to wonder if she was ever going to become accustomed to such a look.

They held their gazes firmly for what seemed like hours to Hermione, but she finally broke away and stared down at her next piece of parchment.

"Thank you." She whispered.

Narcissa turned on her heels stiffly and resumed her seat across the room.

Hermione tapped her finger to the fresh piece of parchment, feeling the texture like she did when she was first given parchment. She inhaled the aroma, that familiar scent from countless nights in the common room with Harry and Ron, the scent that she had bound about herself during her years at Hogwarts. Hermione's eyes fluttered closed briefly, just long enough for a memory to conjure out of the depths of her mind.

_"You smell nice," Ron said, appearing beside her on the landing outside Ginny's bedroom._

"Thank you?" She replied; she really didn't know if smelling nice was good to Ron or not.

"Well, you always smell nice." He said, bearing a grin that was worthy of his twin brothers.

"I do?"

"Yeah," he leaned down and kissed her cheek quickly. "Like… those stupid old books you used to read in the library. And… ink. And that Hermione smell you've always had." He smiled at her before pecking her on the lips. "And fresh parchment."

"Fresh parchment?"

"Yeah. You've always smelled like fresh parchment."

"You hate fresh parchment."

"No. I just hate writing _on fresh parchment."_

Hermione was smiling to herself before she looked up. Narcissa was smirking.

"Get to work, Granger."

Hermione pressed her quill to the parchment and wrote her first word: Love.

--

"Bloody hell," Ron said, exasperated. "We've been at this for hours and…"

"Fucking nothing," Ginny mumbled, brushing the dust off her robes. They had searched every trunk, closet, shelf and bedroom that was in the house, and still they had found nothing that would be able to help them. If anything, all they had found was an old box of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes that was in the room Fred and George had occupied while Headquarters was here.

Ginny stood and offered her hand to Ron, who took it and stood as well. "I s'pose we should just move along, then?" she suggested, raising her eyebrow.

"I s'pose," he agreed, walking out of the room and down the stairwell.

But when he didn't hear the familiar soft foot falls of his sister, he turned around and saw that she had not followed. He sauntered back into the room they had been in only to discover that she was back on the floor, sifting through Fred and George's box.

"Ginny, what're you—"

"I found it!" she shouted, triumphantly holding what looked like nothing more than some kind of old Muggle tinker toy that their father had loved to tweak with. It had an oddly insect like appearance about it.

"What is it?" Ginny had never been the kind to go off her rocker, but really, what was so special about this?

"Fred and George showed this to me while they were testing it… I still don't think George has got it on the market, but it could be really helpful to us!" Ron tried to interrupt her again. "Listen! It can track."

"If they were testing it, how do you know it'll work?"

"Fred told me how to tweak things if I ever wanted to become partners with them when I graduated. I remember that I got it to follow Crookshanks around a lot because I was downright bored here. Go downstairs for a moment and I'll show you."

Ron did as he was told and planted himself in the kitchen, waiting a few moments before he felt something attach itself to his leg. Ginny walked in with a satisfied grin on her face, sitting down next to Ron.

"How does it work?" he said, trying to pry the thing off his calf.

"You just tell it who to find and they'll do it. It only finds people with magical properties, so it couldn't find a Squib, but it generally works the way an owl does. You tell it where to go and it'll go there, but you have to give it someone to find or it's useless."

"How do I get it off?"

"I made it so that it's impenetrable to all spells and hexes. Only the searcher can command it off."

"How did you make it impenetrable?" asked Ron, shocked by his sister's stroke of genius.

After she had flicked her wand idly and the ball had returned to her hand, Ginny said, "I fiddled with the Shield Cloak charms. Reducto or anything else can't blow this thing up. It just produces Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder."

"Did you tell George about this?"

"Yep, but he said he doesn't know if he can legalize it quick enough before we need it. He'd only be able to sell it to the Ministry since it's against the law to track people."

"So how did you manage to do this without magic?"

Ginny looked sad for a moment, as if dwelling on an unpleasant memory. "I didn't. I told Fred what to do and he did it for me."

"It has to have some kind of weakness, though, doesn't it?"

"Yep, but most people wouldn't guess it."

"What is it?"

"Fire."

"Fire? Why fire?"

"That's exactly it! Why would a simple little machine fall to fire? It doesn't make sense and no one would use it in their common knowledge. It's just like Inferi." Ginny looked excited beyond belief, as if she was telling Ron she had won the World Cup for the Holyhead Harpies.

"So if we tell it to track Hermione…?"

But Ginny shook her head. "Not Hermione, Ron. She's probably protected by so many charms and spells that it's impossible. The person I want to find it Bellatrix Lestrange." Ron tried to speak through her theory, but she cut him off once again. "Think about it. She's always within close proximity to Voldemort and she's bound to know where they're keeping Hermione."

"Wouldn't she just be under the same enchantments as Hermione?" It was now that Ron was beginning to lose faith in Ginny's plan, but again, she shook her head.

"No, Ron, listen—"

But suddenly, Ron slapped his hand down on the wooden table beside them. Ginny jumped in her seat but didn't move. Ron leaned over the table, trying to read the words that were etched into the wood. He recognized the small, angular handwriting at once, but it seemed sloppy, like a child's hand.

_Ron,_

I'm okay.

I'm close to home.

I know you won't, so don't stop looking for me. I can't tell you where I am because I don't know. I can't tell you what they want with me because they will kill me if I do. But keep looking. Just keep looking.

I believe our fates are intertwined, Ron Weasley. Please have the same faith as well.

Love,

Hermione

"Holy fuck," he whispered.

"Ron?" Ginny asked, peering over his shoulder. "What is it?"

Ginny read the works with her brow furrowed. "'I'm close to home.' What does that mean?"

"We need to go to Australia. Now." Ron said, sprinting into the hallway, taking Ginny's hand as he swept by. She stumbled behind him, frowning.

"Why do we need to go to Australia?" she asked.

"Her parents are in Australia. Think about it. 'I'm close to home.' She wanted to recover their memories with them, so when Hermione was captured, I never went and did it for her."

"That's right; you were supposed to go with her."

"Yes, we were supposed to leave a few days after the final battle, but then Voldemort uprooted all of those Inferi…"

"Right." Ginny said, pushing the terrible images of those cold, pale bodies crawling towards her, where she could hear the horrified screams of her classmates around her—

"And all those bloody backup Death Eaters. Who knew his army was so big?" Ron mused, tapping his chin but he looked over at his sister and cleared his throat. "Right. All ready?"

"You've got all my stuff." Ginny replied warily.

Ron flushed. "Right. Grab my arm, then." She didn't protest and latched herself onto Ron's arm.

"Hold on tight," he said cheerily, even though there wasn't much happiness to be found.

But he was Ron.

Happiness didn't have to be found when he was there.

--

_Love holds magical properties that protect and thrive as one grows older. These properties can ensure that those who have had murdered loved ones are protected for some time against the killer of said victims, much in the case of Harry Potter and his mother's love. Love holds an ever binding enchantment that can only be lifted by certain elements, all of which change under each circumstance. Love is powerful, and though it is not said to be so, it can outweigh almost any other powerful Dark Art._

Hatred is believed to work in very much the same way. If enough hatred is coursed into the curse or spell that the caster is producing, there should be a sort of effect, hopefully to the backfire of the power of love. If the predictions gathered are correct, the caster will have an everlasting protection against the person they have successfully cast a curse or spell against. Of course, the caster must feel nothing but pure, unmitigated hatred.

If anything else is felt, the caster will have simply produced a powerful curse, but it will not hold the properties of love and hate. Love must be unconditional and pure; hatred must be the same. The hatred cannot be momentary, just as the love cannot be fleeting.

In the case of Harry Potter, he loved. And when he had to battle those who opposed or threatened his loved ones, he felt nothing but love towards them and hatred towards his opponents. With his love, he was able to survive for many, many years among those who hated him, but also trust those who loved him.

There is no known way to defeat someone with such love.

However, should someone feel hatred in the very same way, if only just towards his or her main enemy, the effect should resolutely be the same.

This theory is going into testing.

Hermione looked up from her words. It wasn't much, but it was a start, and while theorizing hadn't always been her best thing in school, it was all she could do now. She met Narcissa Malfoy's eyes and nodded her head in an odd sort of fashion.

Narcissa smirked and stood, making her way over to the fine oak desk. Hermione withdrew her arms from the surface and pushed her work towards Narcissa, who scanned the words quickly and put it back down.

"You have a good start," she said.

Hermione nodded, standing to meet Narcissa in height. "I won't… I won't be able to test it myself."

Narcissa clicked her tongue. "I figured only as much. Very well," she said, her eyes doing a swift once-over of Hermione, who found the gesture quite strange. "I shall have Bellatrix do the testing for you."

"Please tell her that I would not like to be the victim."

Narcissa smiled and said, "Any other requests?"

Hermione thought for a moment and then remembered the young American that she had shared a cell with. Had she made it out alive? Had she even tried?

"Amanda Mayer. If Bellatrix wants to use her, I'd rather she use me." Narcissa's smile dropped.

But then she recovered and was transfixed into her blank, cold stare once more. "I shall ensure that Bellatrix does not step out of the line."

"Thank you," Hermione said softly, looking back down at the words she had concocted. It turned out that she had already known this information, so why had she demanded so much background text and analysis?

And then, drifting from her thoughts, Hermione suddenly spoke. "And you, neither."

Narcissa looked up and narrowed her eyes at Hermione. "Why would I need your word to protect me?"

"You've… you've got those scars. There, on your shoulder." Hermione replied shakily, pointing to the spot just above Narcissa's collarbone. Narcissa pulled her dark robes around her tightly. But she did not respond, only sat across from Hermione with an evil glare that caused the young witch to hurriedly resume her work.

Hermione was still enthralled by all she had not learned in school. Even the books she had been given did not give her all she wished to know, but she supposed that even the slightest amount of information on forming this kind of spell would have to do for now. She did not know, however, if she would be able to follow through on adapting or possibly creating this charm, enchantment, curse or whatever the hell it was.

It would kill her parents.

It would kill her, in the long run, because she was sure that this spell would have to be so powerful that it would completely diminish all use of protective charms or a simple Protego. It would kill all the other Muggleborns and half-bloods she had ever gone to school with; it would kill Seamus Finnigan, Justin Finch-Fletchey…

It would kill Harry.

But Voldemort would want to kill Harry himself, wasn't that it? Wasn't that the goal? He surely wouldn't want to use her… her spell to just wipe him out like that? _No,_ Hermione decided. _That would be utterly foolish of him and he knows better. He just wants to get Harry's cause out of the way. Or what he thinks Harry's cause is._

But… still. Voldemort, she was sure, did hate Muggles, but that couldn't be his real reason. Harry had shared all the information he knew about Voldemort's past, and his hatred of Muggles was now understandable. But that couldn't be his ultimate quest… could it?

"Why haven't you written anything?" Narcissa said, her fingers tapping on the arm of her chair. The sound of her nails rapping against the wood echoed around the dark room.

"Sorry… I was thinking." Hermione mumbled, but she still did not move to put her quill into the ink.

Hermione stared at the parchment again, all thought gone from her mind except for how and why Narcissa Malfoy had those scars.

"The courtesy of my sister, if you simply must know," Narcissa said, as if reading Hermione's mind. Come to think of it, she probably had. "When Lucius was put in prison, I did not want Draco to become part of the plan to kill Dumbledore. Dearest Bellatrix had to make her point known."

"She… _she_ did that to _you_?" Hermione asked, amazed.

"I know, quite the little devil, isn't she?" Narcissa smirked. She pointed to a jagged, vertical scar that ran just from her neck to collarbone. "This one is from the first time I objected to having Draco interfere." She moved along to a clean, horizontal one that was short and only covered maybe half an inch of skin, just along her shoulder. "This is from when I had Severus make the Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco."

And then Narcissa stood, turning around and flicking her wand. Her back was suddenly bare and there was a diagonal, wide scar that went from her hip to shoulder.

"And that one," she said, peering at Hermione over her left shoulder, "is from the last time I objected."

"How long ago was that? What did you object to?" Hermione asked.

"This was given to me just last week, believe it or not. I lost quite a bit of blood. I told Bella that I wasn't going to have her order me around and tell my son what to do, and then I hexed her, dueled her, won, and told her to stay away from my family. That Sectumsempra sure is a nasty one." Narcissa spoke as if this was of no great concern to her.

"Why is she becoming so controlling?"

"You did not hear? Ever since Nagini was slain by that Neville Longbottom, The Dark Lord has no one to keep by his side. He does not trust Wormtail as much as he used to. Bella was a very good and willing option to keep at his side."

"What about Snape?" Hermione had not heard that Neville had managed to kill Nagini, and though her heart fluttered happily at the news, Snape's position in Voldemort's favor was much more intriguing.

"He has been sent back to Hogwarts." Narcissa met Hermione's eyes. "They really have told you nothing, have they?"

Hermione could only shake her head in response. Then she asked, "What is Snape doing at Hogwarts?"

"I do not know the specifics, but I heard he was just another insider, giving the Dark Lord any information that might possibly be useful. I don't think he has turned up with anything that pleases the Dark Lord, but it was that way for many years."

And Hermione stared at her parchment again.

"You are allowed to tell me all of this?"

Narcissa looked at Hermione warily. "Granger, please. I have no one else to speak with until you are done with your assignment. I can't bear no conversation, and you keep up quite well. But you know nothing that the rest of the Wizarding World doesn't know already, so you should not worry."

Hermione dipped her quill into the ink just once more.

"I will not worry, then," she said, and she meant it.

She began with another word: Compassion.

--

Ginny held the machine she had created with her fallen brother to her lips.

"Granger," she whispered, and set it to the ground. The device scurried away from her as soon as it came in contact with the soft soil beneath their feet, still withholding it's very distinguished appearance of an insect.

"Won't it come up with more than a few Grangers?" Ron asked, his cloak billowing around him as they stood on top of a small hill, the wind picking up and blowing his hair.

Ginny nodded. "Granger isn't the most popular name, but I do expect to have a few more people than we are hoping for. Just remember to act like a Muggle at all times. I don't know how things work around here, so it would be best if we just sort of fit in, alright?"

"I'll try." He replied, and she just nodded in response. They stood in silence for a moment, hearing only the wind's voice as it ripped through the space that they had let themselves create between them. Under any other circumstance they would have stood together, closer, offering what warmth and family they could. But this was different, Ginny realized. This is what things might come down to.

"So what do we do now?" Ron asked.

"We wait."

"I'll go mad."

"It doesn't matter, we still have to wait." With a grunt in response, Ron sat down easily on the top of that hill, his fingers ripping the grass in front of his legs.

"It's been three years…" he mumbled, "and this is the closest I've ever come to finding her." He looked up and met Ginny's eyes. "Can you believe that? There are thousands of missing people and the Wizengamot is just going to… to let them die! Let them rot! Let Voldemort do whatever the hell he wants to do to them!"

Ginny remained silent.

"I mean, I want Hermione out of there, that is definitely my intention, but… I don't know if they realize how little of the Wizarding population is pureblood! Even Voldemort himself isn't a pureblood! Why is that fair? Why should he be able to live and not Hermione? Why should he get to practically rule the world while Hermione is… is—"

"Ssh, Ron." Ginny's wand was pulsing in her fingers. "It found a Granger. Come on."

They stood and Ginny followed some sort of path that Ron didn't understand.

"How does that bloody thing work, anyway?"

"There's a sensor. I'm the only one who can feel it, but it pulses in the direction of the bug. It doesn't make much sense, but it's very convenient and it was a great idea. I would've never thought of it. Fred's doing, you see." Ginny fell silent and concentrated on the path that the bug was leading her down.

It was just a few minutes later that they arrived at a small cottage near the shore where Ron had brought them.

"Good instinct, Ron." Ginny said, punching his shoulder lightly and stowing her wand away. "Remember: we're Muggles." Ron nodded and raised his hand to knock.

But before he had even curled his fingers into his palm, the door flew open in front of them and a very tired and old looking sort of man appeared on the doorstep. He frowned at them and greatly resembled what Ron would have thought to have been a Crumple-Horned Snorkack—not that he thought they existed.

"What do you want?" the man grunted, pushing his crooked glasses up his long, fat nose.

"We'd, um, we'd—" Ron stuttered. He had absolutely no idea how to act like a Muggle, much less a normal one.

"We're performing a survey for the Australian government. If we could have just a few minutes out of your day—" Ginny started, her voice strong and rather convincing; Ron started wondering just how much time she had spent with the twins at one point or another.

"What do I get for it?" the man cut her off, his arms crossing in front of his chest.

"We would only like to ask whether or not you approve of the new fashion that appears here and there on the streets, sir." Ginny said, fingering her own robes. "We have dressed accordingly to provide the correct visual as to what we are asking."

The man eyed her, his eyes roving for a little longer than both of them would have liked. "Yeah, I don't care about it."

"Could we have your name, sir?" Ron jumped in.

"What?"

"Your name."

"Joseph Granger, but why—"

"Thank you, we'll be taking our leave now."

Ron grabbed his sister by the arm and led her away from the house, and once he saw the beam of light that came from the man's doorway disappear beneath their feet, Ron pulled Ginny closer and they Apparated into a nearby meadow.

"How does that machine work?" Ron said once they had finished stumbling over a sloppy landing.

"I told you, it looks for anyone named Granger."

"But Hermione changed her parents' identity! Their names aren't Granger while they're living here. Will the machine work by previous names or present names?"

"Both, if I'm correct. I don't see why it wouldn't; we tested it on Tonks before and after she had been married, and even though we said, "Nymphadora Tonks," after she married Lupin, the machine still found her in the kitchen." Ginny paused. "But the thing is, do you even know what Hermione changed her parents' names to?"

"I haven't the slightest idea." Ron sighed, feeling defeated.

"There have got to be more than a few Grangers here, though. Hermione looks a lot like her parents anyway. She didn't change their outward appearances, did she?"

"No, I don't think she did."

Ginny and Ron sat in silence for a few moments before Ginny felt that familiar pulse in her wand. She looked up at her brother.

"It found another Granger." She said.

Ron sighed heavily again, but got to his feet. "We can only keep trying."

Ginny grinned. "That's the spirit."


	3. Chapter 3

_Compassion, while not as strong as the emotion of love, can conceal many forms power. It has been known that when people battle for other people that they have only just met or do not even know, they feel compassion toward the people they are helping to protect. While compassion will never be as strong as the two single emotions of hatred and love, it does work when there is enough of it in one area._

This has been portrayed in almost all famous battles in the Wizarding World. Perhaps the most famous would be the First Battle of Hogwarts, where compassion was as high as the hatred. So much of the same emotion in one place led to an accumulation of emotion that was only slightly weaker than that of the hatred the other party felt.

This is a theory that will not be put into testing.

Hermione frowned at her new analysis. She had been inspired greatly by her small conversation with Narcissa Malfoy, but now, whatever point she had been trying to make with this particular emotion seemed to be lost to her.

"When can we begin testing?" she asked Narcissa, who looked up from her task of twirling ribbons that had been procured from her wand in front of her.

"When Bellatrix feels she has the time."

"You have not asked her, then." Hermione stated, feeling the tone of Narcissa's voice.

"I have not." Narcissa replied, and she was cold again. Hermione sank her shoulders in something of a peace offering.

"I do believe that your sister would give up her normal daily teasings and torturings for the ultimate torture."

"You, Granger, have been unable to develop the spell yet, in case you have forgotten. Do not worry about testing this theory you have of hatred."

"It's a crucial part of the spell!"

"It's a crucial part of the caster, Granger, not the spell itself. You're going to have to adapt the Avada Kedvra curse, and that will be no easy task. I suggest that you either request more information or get started." Narcissa snarled, and Hermione briefly thought that she had never more resembled her sister.

"I've never studied Dark Magic! I don't know how this thing works! How am I supposed to adapt a curse that I have never myself used? How am I supposed to kill my own blood if I can't even kill a rat?" Hermione questioned, and though she was yelling, she sincerely wanted to hear what answer Narcissa would be able to give her.

Narcissa glared at her. "I have not studied the ways of Dark Magic either, but I have been able to tell you all of this information. Do you know why?" Hermione shook her head. "I've been reading some of those books that you have collected. It's simple, Granger; you adapt the spell to kill those that are not of pureblood. You adapt a spell so that it works only on those with certain characteristics."

"I don't know how to do that!" Hermione cried, her hands shaking.

"Read, Granger, read!" Narcissa demanded, standing in front of Hermione's desk. She pulled a book from one corner of the desk. "This book," she said, opening up to what seemed to be a completely random page, "will tell you _everything_ that you will ever need to know about Dark Magic. Read."

So Hermione read.

And three hours later, she knew nothing more than she had known three hours previous, though she found herself with very tired eyes and a very sore head. She had come across words she had not heard or seen or even known existed. It was painful to know she was so ignorant and, well, stupid about something. She had never known such a feeling, and this was so outrageously new.

But when she was just about to close the book, she stumbled upon just one word that seemed to make everything different: willpower.

"Willpower?" Hermione asked, looking up at Narcissa. Narcissa nodded, looking up from one of the spellbooks she had grabbed herself.

"Willpower to cast such a curse. That also relies within the caster, not the spell itself. The spell must be adapted so that it kills with certain characteristics." Narcissa said, idly twirling her wand in her hands.

"You've already told me that." Hermione mumbled, her finger planted on the word that she had found.

"I have. You need to look for something along the lines of characteristics, Granger, or you will get nowhere."

"What kind of characteristics?"

Narcissa sighed. "If you wanted to, you could kill every person in the world who had black hair. You just have to adapt the spell correctly." Hermione winced as she thought of Harry, with his black hair and his green eyes and his stupid scar that would always frame him. "If you wanted to, you could adapt a spell that killed every person in the world with a defect of some kind."

Narcissa looked down at her book. "If you really wanted to, Granger, you could adapt a spell to kill anything with the characteristics that you wanted to kill."

Hermione could only nod, because words didn't seem appropriate.

She looked down at her book and flipped the pages, scanning for anything about black hair or defects or impure blood. She found nothing on these traits specifically, but here and there she found the mentions of certain wizards who had once adapted spells to kill only certain people in their area, in numbers of ten to fifteen people.

Hermione had to adapt to kill thousands, millions… how could she do such a thing?

"Are there biographies on any of these wizards?" she asked, looking up at the pale, blond witch. Her tired eyes started back at the younger girl warily, but she nodded.

"I collected them for you." She said, nodding in the direction of a table balancing the weight of what had to be at least twenty different books, all no lighter than a normal schoolbook.

Hermione retrieved one of the books and began reading.

_"… Joanne Carrigan, a witch known to be one of the brightest in her class, developed the Killing Curse in 1469 that murdered all of the Muggles in her small village home. She later said in her written works that "she used only their blood and location" as a means of deterioration."_

Hermione left that page opened and flipped quickly through the spellbook that held her information on the Avada Kedvra curse.

_"The curse kills whomever it is cast upon. The death is instant and shows no mark or trace."_

Another book, one hundred more pages to search through, and—

_"The multiplication of spells is complicated but not impossible. All spells can be multiplied in at least one form; a solid band that extends in all directions, most commonly in the shape of a sphere. It has been researched for spells to be cast and hit numerous targets with numerous rays of the spell, but the spell proves to be weaker. The solid band is the most efficient way to multiply spells, and the most powerful."_

Another text, with four books left open on her desk, and Hermione had not yet noticed that Narcissa Malfoy was watching her very closely—closer than she had ever watched anybody.

_"A Hovner's Band, named after Theodore Hovner who developed the band in 1054, can be produced much in the same way that a witch or wizard Apparates: the caster must focus on the width, location and extermination point of the band. The furthest a band is known to extend is seven hundred feet, and it succeeded in affecting all those who the caster had meant to affect. In Hovner's case, he killed all priests in the area for accusing him of witchcraft."_

Hermione was in disbelief.

Books had yet to fail her.

--

"We've gone through nine sets of Grangers, and still… why can't we find them?" Ron said, dragging his feet to keep up with Ginny, who was walking with long, quick strides in the next direction that her wand pointed her.

"Ron, we've yet to go to this last place in Australia. We've only been here a few days, just calm down. You didn't really expect this to be easy, did you?" Ginny asked, glancing at him over her shoulder before turning sharply to the right and proceeding onto a dirt path that seemed to extend forever into the horizon.

"No, I didn't, but really, this is getting ridiculous." He said. "I wish I had my broom."

"Muggles don't fly on brooms, Ron, and they really aren't accustomed to seeing other people fly on brooms." Ginny said with a light laugh, and as they ascended a hill, Ginny quickly stowed her wand into the pocket of her robes. "Be quick, Ron, I think this is another Muggle town." Her brother groaned in reply but put his wand away as well without another word of protest.

As they rose over the crest of the hill, Ron saw that there was a town nestled in the valley just below. He guessed it may have been a farming town, but then he saw the houses standing far taller than they should have and he was instantly reminded of the Burrow, of home. Ginny led them straight into the heart of the small town.

Ron tugged on her sleeve. "I don't think this is a Muggle town, Gin."

She only nodded in response, turning left into a bookshop. Ron was right; there were too many books of familiar name here. He saw an old, tattered copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ on a low shelf and reached out to trace the spine with the tip of his finger. He felt dust cover the very top of his index finger.

"This is where the machine is?"

"The last place it could be, by the looks of it." Ginny said, tapping his shoulder and pointing at the small bug that was scurrying towards them. She leaned down and cupped it in her hands. The legs curled into the body instantaneously and the bug seemed to close in on itself, and it looked very much the same as it had when Ginny had pulled it out of a box just a few days ago.

Ginny took the beaded bag from the insides of Ron's robes ("I can get it for you myself, you know!") and stowed the little machine inside. Just after she had handed the bag back, they heard a soft, singsong voice from the back of the shop.

"Can we help you?"

Ron's knees almost buckled, and he was sure they would have if Ginny hadn't had a hand on his shoulder. Hermione's mother had the same, bushy brown hair, if not to the same extent, and she had the same small, pouting nose that Ron was so used to seeing scrunched up in the dim firelight of the common room. Ginny gasped softly, but it was so quiet that only her brother could hear, and Ron decided then and there that Ginny would have never been more correct than she had been then.

And then Hermione's father walked in and Ron was stricken again by the grief that had overwhelmed him for the past three years.

It was like reliving a painful memory, except most of his memories with Hermione were so joyous and peaceful, so innocent. Seeing her parents standing there, the wild brown hair and the same small nose on her mother was already difficult enough. But seeing those same, soft brown eyes and the same scattered freckles on the cheeks of her father was gut wrenching and utterly terrifying. What if he was to never see her again? What if this was the last image, the last combined and semi-full image he would ever have of what was Hermione Granger?

All his resolve was broken in the instant that her parents stood side by side. For years he had been completely confident that she was alive and breathing, that she was fighting and figuring out ways to escape. He had told himself those things over and over again until he depended on them like he depended on air. Without those faux promises, he would collapse and everything he had been fighting for would be turned into phoenix ashes.  
Ginny, noticing her brother's state, quickly said, "Yes, we're performing—"

"We need to know what your names are," Ron said, the sound of his own voice surprising him in the quiet of the bookshop.

Hermione's parents blinked and stared at each other momentarily. "Well, we would be the Smiths."

"You have English accents?" Ron noted. Ginny raised her eyebrows at him and inwardly nodded in approval. All other families and Grangers had had Australian accents.

"Oh, yes, you see, we used to live in London quite a while ago—"

"Could you tell us how long ago?" he questioned.

"I'd say about five or six years, isn't that right?" Hermione's father said, looking over at his wife. She nodded and smiled at Ron, whose heart had taken flight and was within the slight path of never returning.

"Thank you, that's all the information we need," Ginny said quickly, tipping her head to them and smiling warmly. She grabbed Ron by the forearm and led him out of the shop with a flourish of their robes.

"Can you… Ginny, this has to be it!" Ron shouted excitedly. He pumped his fist into the air. "'Close to home', this has to be it! The Convergence has to be around here!"

Ginny scowled at her brother and put her hand over his mouth, with great difficulty. He was getting too tall for his own good. "Ron, quiet down, you're drawing too much attention to us." She pulled him away from the shop, following the path back up onto the hill.

Ron was still grinning like a madman when Ginny had settled down into the grass under the shade of the tree that rested on the peak of the hill. She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. Her brother continued pacing and muttering to himself ("This is it, this has to be it.") and finally, when she decided that he did not have a new plan, she spoke up.

"We need to be able to detect magical boundaries," she said, opening an eye to catch his expression. He stopped in mid step.

"I don't know how to do that." He glanced at her. "Do you?"

"Nope." Ron looked defeated again, his shoulders sinking and his eyes turning that awful hollow that they often did when he was lost in the cases he had been investigating. She recovered, "But I do know someone who does."

"You do?"

"There were only two people in the Order who could; Dumbledore and McGonagall."

Ron stood, taking out his wand. "We need to get to Hogwarts, then!"

"Now hold on. We can't just show up at Hogwarts and demand that McGonagall come back here to Australia. Be sensible, Ron." She paused. "I want to test something out with the machine. I'll send it today while we rest," Ron looked as though he was going to object, "and shut up, we're both exhausted. We'll send a Patronus to McGonagall today and if she replies, we'll go to Hogwarts tomorrow."

"What do you want to try with the machine?" Ron asked.

"I want to see if it can get to the outskirts of the boundaries. It would be far easier than trying to detect them."

"But then we would have to find a way to break through the boundaries."

"Again, McGonagall." Ginny was becoming increasingly nonchalant as she spoke, folding her arms behind her head and closing her eyes again. She seemed perfectly at ease. "Hand me the bag."

Ron did as he was told and Ginny retrieved the machine once more, whispering something against the sleek surface and sending it on its way.

"I hope it comes up with something." Ron mumbled with a slight frown.

"Just send the Patronus to McGonagall and don't worry right now." Ginny said as she watched the machine move quickly down the hill and into the blazing sun that was setting on the horizon.

"Everything will be okay," she said, and it sounded strange to hear it from her own lips. She'd told everyone off for ever saying that to her ("You don't know anything worth a bloody fucking Sickle!") and now that she was telling it to Ron, it didn't feel right. But at the same time, it did.

"Yeah. Yeah, it will," her brother said, and for the first time in over three years, Ron Weasley was sounding optimistic.

--

"I can't believe it's this simple," Hermione said, staring down at the seven books she had sprawled out on her desk. She had gathered one more biography from the midst of one of her tables. She looked up at Narcissa. "And you knew this whole time?"

Narcissa smirked. "I knew simply where to _look_, Granger, and nothing more."

"That's almost the same thing and you know it."

"Well, yes, but the Dark Lord never told me to tell you anything. It was much more fun letting you figure things out."

"I haven't slept in four days just because you were letting me figure things out?" Hermione asked, her grip tightening on her quill.

"Yes." Narcissa said with a slight laugh. And then her face turned back to its normal, serious expression. "But I suggest you do not waste more time. The Dark Lord is expecting results, and soon."

"I need Bellatrix to help with the testing. I won't be able to perform the spells." Hermione replied.

"Yes, dearest Bellatrix will be paying us her long overdue visit today. Actually," Narcissa said, glancing at the clock that was perched on the edge of Hermione's desk, "she should be here at any moment."

Hermione was quiet for a minute, staring down at all she had gathered. "Will you summon two from the cells?" she whispered, not daring to look up at the older witch. Even asking was too painful, but the knowing look of amusement would chill her down to the bone.

"I have already." Narcissa said, and her voice was close, soft, gentle. Hermione decided that her chances were better with Narcissa like this and found herself staring directly into the other's eyes.

"I can't bring myself to thank you this time." Hermione said hoarsely, a tear sliding down her cheek.

Narcissa smiled a small, sad smile. "Do not worry. I did not expect that from you." She brought her hand up to Hermione's cheek and brushed away the tear with the palm of her hand. Hermione was reminded of all the times her own mother had done that and she felt herself crying harder now, but Narcissa wouldn't let her duck her head in shame.

"You should not be ashamed of pain." She said quietly, her thumbs sliding across Hermione's cheeks to catch the capsules of her sadness. "You're one of the strongest people I have met," she whispered, "and I will not let you think you are weak, Hermione."

Hermione nodded and wiped her face on her sleeves quickly, but Narcissa did her the favor of casting a charm and Hermione felt fresh.

The older witch looked down at the younger and nodded. Then she resumed her position in the chair opposite of Hermione's desk and that was that.

There was a great bang as the doors flew open. Hermione, having only seen the room cast in darkness, now realized how large it actually was. The lamplight extended to Narcissa's chair and Hermione's desk, but it did not throw upon the walls. Bellatrix entered the room with two people looking terrified stumbling in front of her. They looked at Hermione in faint recognition and she noticed that she had shared a cell with them; they were old timers, just like she was.

"I thought you would enjoy these two, Granger." Bellatrix spat, twirling in front of Hermione's desk when she had forced the prisoners on their knees in front of Narcissa. Narcissa had returned to her cold, blank expression, but Hermione preferred it to the one of hunger and excitement that decorated Bellatrix's face now.

"Bella," Narcissa spoke, "you will have to listen carefully to everything that Granger says. Her directions are meant to be followed, and since her theories are being put into testing, we can not afford to take any more risks than are being taken now."

"Cissy, you do sometimes ruin the fun." Bellatrix sighed, but turned to face Hermione anyway. "Alright, Granger, what will you have me do?"

Hermione was surprised by the sudden change of direction, but looked down at her notes anyway.

"This may take a little while to explain, but I really do need you to listen." Bellatrix summoned a chair from the darkness and sat down in front of Hermione's desk, planting her elbows on the edge.

"I'm listening."

"You are familiar with the entire concept of the power of love?" Hermione asked, and when Bellatrix nodded, she continued, "Well, I was going to work that into the power of hatred. Since I know Lord Vol—I mean, the Dark Lord absolutely hates non-purebloods, then I was thinking that maybe we could incorporate that emotion into the way that spells and curses affect non-purebloods." Bellatrix didn't say anything.

"So for Harry Potter, the power of love kept him protected for seventeen years. The Dark Lord couldn't touch him until they had the same blood. But when people die for the love of their friends, they are protected by the love of their sacrifice."

"Are you saying that I'm going to have to _die_ so that my hatred will kill everyone?" Bellatrix asked.

"No no, that's not what I meant. I mean, if you could just cast a curse at someone and feel nothing but pure hatred, then I think it would work sort of like the power of love. You wouldn't be protecting anyone but yourself, I'm pretty sure, but I just don't know because I've never heard of anything like this." Hermione said.

"So what do you need me to do?"

"I'm not done yet. In order for the Dark Lord's request to work, the spell has to hit multiple targets. In his case, millions. Spells also can adapt to the thoughts of the caster; if you think about killing only those with black hair," Hermione gestured to the prisoners by Narcissa, "then the spell should only affect those with black hair. You have to concentrate on how far you want the spell to extend, and the spell will kill everyone with black hair within the distance that you choose.

"Overall, you're going to cast a curse and extend it in a band—"

"The Hovner's Band?" Bellatrix asked, and Hermione could tell that she had actually captured her interest. Torturing was her specialty, after all.

"Yes, and the band should extend just five feet. It will extend in a sphere."

"It won't affect me, I hope?" Bellatrix asked, pointing at her own head of black hair. Hermione shook her head.

"It won't. The caster is never affected unless the spell backfires, which doesn't happen often, especially with an experienced witch. Don't use the Cruciatis Curse right away. Try something more simple, like a Levitation charm so that you can get the feel for the band."

Bellatrix nodded. She glanced at her sister and said, "You were right, Cissy; the girl really does know what she's talking about." When Bellatrix turned her back for a moment, Hermione threw Narcissa a feeble nod of thanks.

Bellatrix took a deep breath and extended her arms, looking down at the prisoners in front of her. "Black hair and impure blood," Hermione heard her mumble to herself, "black hair and impure blood.

_"Levicorpus!"_ Bellatrix shouted, and Hermione saw the faint, pale line of blue light extend just six or seven feet around Bellatrix, and the prisoners were lifted into the air and hung by their ankles. Bellatrix smirked and admired her handiwork. She turned and faced Hermione.

"Well?"

"You learn quickly. I'm impressed." Hermione said, trying to sound much less impressed than she really was. "Use that one more time and try to lesson the width and focus more on the location of your victims. Then I want you to try the Cruciatis Curse."

Bellatrix nodded and took another deep breath.

_"Levicorpus!"_ The pale band of light extended only five feet this time, just like Hermione had told her, and the prisoners were again taken up by the ankles. Hermione had not heard them make a single sound while they were in the room. She looked over at Narcissa momentarily and Narcissa replied with a motion of locking something over her mouth. _So she doesn't like to hear them scream, either._ Hermione thought.

"Very good, very good. Keep within the same focus and you may use any curse except the Killing Curse." Hermione said.

"Bella," Narcissa spoke up, "it is necessary that you keep focused on both black hair _and_ impure blood. The Dark Lord will not be happy to know that you tortured his spell maker." Bellatrix's smile fell for a moment but she recovered and nodded, turning back to the prisoners.

She inhaled sharply through her nose and bared her teeth in the most evil smile Hermione had ever seen her in life.

_"Crucio!"_ Bellatrix cried, and the pale band of light was strong. It extended five feet like it should have, but Hermione knew it had taken full affect when the victims of Bellatrix Lestrange's most powerful curse started writhing on the cold stone floor. Bellatrix, for the first time, did not seem to feed off their screams, but her eyes focused on the faces of her prisoners.

Hermione felt her gut wrench and her muscles contract everywhere. She gripped her sides and managed to gasp, "Narcissa!" before she collapsed.

Narcissa understood immediately and took action, grabbing her sister by the shoulders and halting all concentration on the curse instantly. Bellatrix still held that maniacal grin, but it fell when she saw Hermione lying on the ground, panting.

"Oh, oh… I did not mean—"

"It's fine." Hermione managed. She pushed herself to her feet. "I'm lucky I didn't feel the full affect." She gestured to the prisoners now lying on the floor, their bodies curled into balls so tightly that it seemed they would never be unraveled. Hermione turned back to Bellatrix. "I mean no offense, but the method will work better with the Dark Lord. His concentration seems to be much more developed than anyone's."

Bellatrix only nodded and looked back down at the motionless victims. "I understand. You will have to present this information to the Dark Lord, I assume you know this?"

"Of course." Hermione followed Bellatrix's gaze and saw the icily cold faces of the witch and wizard that lay before them.

"Brother and sister," Bellatrix mused, "it will be good for them to die together." She turned to Hermione for affirmation.

Hermione whispered, "Yes," and turned away, but she heard the curse fly from Bellatrix's lips and she saw the green light dance upon the walls for the slightest second. She still did not turn to face Bellatrix again when she said it was time to take her leave. Bellatrix and Narcissa exchanged words and then it was just the two witches again.

"Do you still think I am strong?" Hermione whispered. Her words echoed around the chamber, as though ghosting her, haunting her. They always would.

Narcissa put her hand on Hermione's shoulder but did not take the same level of closeness that she had before.

"I would not think any other way."

--

Ron hadn't slept at all that night. It wasn't because he didn't have a place to sleep or the proper comforts; on the contrary, he and Ginny had rented a room in the small town's inn for the night. She was breathing evenly on the next bed over, but Ron found it extremely difficult to stop the racing of his heart, or at least slow it down enough so that he may be able to relax.

When the sun broke over the horizon at last, Ginny opened her eyes and stretched her arms, pulling some fresh robes out of the beaded bag that lay on the bedside table. Ron was gazing out the window silently, and though she didn't have anything to say to him, she put a hand on his shoulder briefly before stepping into the bathroom and going about her morning routine.

After she had showered, Ginny came back into the small room they were sharing and told him that he was free to clean up, but Ron still did not speak. He had been watching the sunrise, waiting for things to change, waiting for things to come.

He, of course, never knew that the sunrise never signified change; it only signified the beginning of a new day, of new changes, of new things that might be waiting. The sunrise only told him that today, he was alive, and today, he would still be searching, endlessly, for Hermione Granger.


	4. Chapter 4

"Miss Granger, I understand that you have developed a spell for me?" Lord Voldemort's voice was held at its normal volume and its normal hint of excitement, but Hermione could tell by the look in his nearly black eyes that he was desperate to hear the words she had to say to him.

Hermione bowed to start things off well. "I have not developed a spell, sir." She paused, looking back up into his expressionless face and saw the fury flash there for just a moment before it vanished and was lost again in the vast, cold void. "However, I have found methods to multiply spells so that they hit more targets with certain characteristics."

"And you are sure that this will work?" he asked, peering at her as though over glasses.

"I am certain. I had Bellatrix Lestrange do the testing for me, and as you know, her level of concentration is very high. I know that yours is even higher, so I have no doubt that you will be able to cast the spell with no trouble."

"What does the spell do, Miss Granger?" asked Voldemort.

"The Avada Kedvra curse will take the same effect as always, but there is a multiplication method called the Hovner's Band. Essentially, once you cast the curse, you must concentrate on what kind of people will be affected by the curse, and where they are. If you were to stand up right now and think 'impure blood' and extend the spell to circle the planet, you would instantly kill every person of impure blood."

Voldemort examined Hermione, who felt as if she had been plunged into the Black Lake and was suffocating for air; again, she saw those horrible images of her friends, but this time, she saw Harry, begging for her to please, please don't cast the spell, and Ron… he was walking towards her again, pleading again, and this time he was bleeding from his side, gripping the wound with one hand and—

"Very good, Miss Granger." Voldemort said quietly, his wand held between two fingers. "I am quite impressed with your results." He looked up at her again.

"However, there is one person who has a greater concentration level than I do. Just one."

Hermione did not speak.

"You."

And she brought her hand to her mouth, hiding the horrible grimace that had covered her features. She had known it would come down to this, she had known, like she had always known that she wasn't kept here to lure in Harry. Tears slid down her face and slipped over her hand. She wept silently, but Voldemort still kept his eyes on her, still kept watching her. Finally it seemed as though he had grown bored of watching her suffer. He flitted a hand over his wand, hesitating.

"You are to kill all those of impure blood." Voldemort said, and then he waved his hand and Narcissa was at her side, guiding her towards the door and down the hallway that lead to the dark, dark room she had been staying in.

--

_"I will be meeting with you at noon. Your location is known to me."_

And that was all the Patronus from McGonagall had said.

Ron stared at Ginny in disbelief, and then reality seemed to hit him. He grabbed the beaded bag hurriedly from her and changed, showered, dressed himself in his most comfortable travel and battle robes. He had the feeling that he would have to be ready for anything.

"Shall we leave, then?" Ginny suggested, gesturing towards the door. Ron nodded and scanned the room quickly for anything they might have left behind. He patted his side pocket to make sure his wand and the beaded bag were still there, safely tucked away.

As soon as they had stepped out of the inn, they came face to face with Professor Minerva McGonagall, and instantly they said, "Good afternoon, Professor." McGonagall smiled at them briefly.

"Let's get going, then," she said tersely, leading them towards the hill again.

"Professor, I have this machine, I'm sure you've seen something like it—it tracks. I'll tell it a name and it tracks the person with a name, and then I can follow where the machine is with my wand. I tried to see if there were any magical boundaries by sending the machine on a look for Hermione's name, but it didn't function and just sat there like it does when it's not supposed to be doing anything." Ginny said, her strides long as she kept up with McGonagall.

"Yes, I have seen something similar. The boundaries would have prevented anything from getting in, out, or from detecting it. Fortunately, Professor Dumbledore taught me the secret key to finding magical boundaries."

"What's that, Professor?" Ron asked from her right side.

McGonagall grinned for a second, they would both swear on it. And then it was gone just as quickly as it had come. "You see, the wizards of the old age had a very good—well, I thought and Albus thought that it was a relatively good one—a good sense of humor. So all magical boundaries have some kind of prank established within them." She glanced at them both. "Your brothers actually have one of the most spectacular safe boundaries around their shop."

Ginny beamed proudly.

"So what's the joke at Hogwarts?" Ron asked.

"There are several, actually. If you try to Apparate in, you end up with a very different change in appearance. We've had some people end up with multicolored hair and such. If you try to fly in on a broom, your clothes are stripped off." McGonagall smiled again. "It's quite funny when a witch tries to fly in. Many of the men at our school like to emphasize that she is riding a broom." Ginny laughed. "The final one, which is by floo powder, is your hair being scorched off. It's not quite severe but it's rather funny when an angry parent comes in every now and then with a bald head."

"You lot are downright evil!" Ron exclaimed, but he was laughing along with Ginny.

"Yes, Albus was quite the prankster, even when it came to Hogwarts." McGonagall said sadly. "Now, we need to find the prank. I am going to assume that the boundaries are just around here. A spell will reveal any pranks."

McGonagall drew her wand and muttered, _"Reddius Twinist!"_

"Professor, was that spell invented when Fred and George went to Hogwarts?" Ginny asked.

McGonagall looked down at her student proudly. "Of course it was. They were some of the—no, _the best_ pranksters we had at Hogwarts. Now shush, shush."

McGonagall looked around quickly, as though looking for someone, but there was no one but Ginny and Ron present while they were now on top of the hill. She frowned when nothing had happened two minutes later. She performed the spell numerous times but the results did not change. McGonagall sighed in frustration.

"Either these boundaries are tweaked, which I highly doubt, or this is not the place of the Convergence." McGonagall said.

"Are you sure that you and Dumbledore at the only ones that know how to find boundaries?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"Of course. Dumbledore told me just a few weeks before he died, and the only other person he may have told was Severus. But Albus always informed me of what he told Severus when it came to the school's safety, I must assure you. Severus and I were to lead the school if something ever happened to Albus, as you know." McGonagall said hastily.

Ron plopped himself down on the soft grass. He rested his chin in his hands and thought for a long, hard moment. _Close to home?_ He wondered. _Where the hell am I supposed to go now? Close to home… close to home… _

And then it hit him.

"Professor, can magical boundaries exist right next to each other?" he asked.

McGonagall blinked in confusion. "Of course, why wouldn't they?"

Ron grabbed Ginny's hand and said, "We need to get to Hogwarts, Professor, and fast."

Ginny gasped and looked up into Ron's face. Then she flung her arms around him and said, "You're a genius, Ron!" He grinned, and while McGonagall still looked thoroughly confused, she shook her head and agreed to accompanying them to the school.

"We will have to go to Hogsmeade—"

"That's even better, we have to look _around_ the school, not _in_ it anyway." Ron said happily. McGonagall looked at him again, and he dug the scrap of parchment that he had written Hermione's words down on. She scanned them quickly and then nodded, giving a little 'hm' of understanding. And that was that, with Ron taking Ginny's hand again and McGonagall standing in front of them with her usual look of apprehension.

"We'll meet in front of the Three Broomsticks," she said and promptly Disapparated with a loud _crack!_

--

Hermione held onto Narcissa's robes as though they were her lifeline as the older witch led her back into the room where they had stayed. She felt as though she should have been wearing a blindfold, but then it would have been useless because the tears were clouding her vision, shrouding the dark colors that made up the hallway. She felt Narcissa's hands balancing her, one wrapped around her shoulders and one smoothing her hair back from her forehead.

And then, as she stumbled into the cold room that was her temporary confines, the thought struck her, the thought that hadn't yet occurred but the thought that had lurked, waiting to strike, waiting to kill in the back of her mind.

She would have to kill Harry.

Hermione's knees hit the stone floor with a chilling _thud_, her sobs becoming louder, louder until she was screaming with the pain and fear that consumed her so well. Her hands stilled themselves over her face, her cheeks wet with the sorrow she was clearly capable of showing. She suddenly knew that this weeping would do her no good, and yet her body refused to stop.

She felt a cool, soft hand on her forehead, and through the midst of her tears, saw the pale blond hair drape over her. She felt herself being pulled into a warm chest, and the tears hit her harder. Her instinct was to clutch to Narcissa and never let go, but sometimes, she had come to learn, instinct had to be met with reason.

Hermione rose shakily to her feet, staggering away from the mothering comfort of Narcissa. When she felt her hips bump painfully against the wood of one of her desks, she fell on top of it, still sobbing uncontrollably. She knew that she needed to stop and practice the spell, she knew that she needed to find a way out of this, she knew she needed to stop this fucking crying, but she had no willpower left.

They had taken everything from her, everything that made her Hermione Granger. And now she had only one thing left, one thing left worth fighting for.

She'd be damned if she didn't die fighting for her friends and family.

She'd be damned if she didn't die fighting for what she believed in.

She'd be damned if she didn't die fighting for what she had been fighting for years.

She would die fighting Voldemort, and that was all there was to it.

--

"Come, Weasley, we have much work to do." McGonagall said hurriedly, her hands on Ron and Ginny's shoulders. She pushed them towards the Forbidden Forest, which meant—

"There can't be magical boundaries inside the Hogwarts boundaries, can there?" Ginny asked.

"If they are strong enough, they can. We no longer have Dumbledore to make such powerful enchantments, and we also don't have him to get rid of enemy boundaries." McGonagall replied.

"Enemy boundaries?" said Ron, turning his head to look at his former teacher. His professor stopped walking for just a moment, muttered something under her breath and pushed them along once more. Ron felt a breeze wash over him as he stepped once more inside the Hogwarts ground. It was like being home again.

"Yes. The prank is deathly, unfortunately; if you are not a pureblood, you are killed." McGonagall said grimly, halting several hundred yards from Hagrid's Hut. "This is the place."

Ron glanced over at Ginny, who was gazing at the trees that towered over them. She seemed to think that there was nothing particularly special about this location, but when he looked at McGonagall, her face was scrunched in concentration. She moved her arms above her, the tip of her wand glowing, and gradually, her arms fell, as if she were lowering something.

Ginny stepped closer to her brother instinctively.

McGonagall had started breathing heavily. Her body was shaking and sweat had started to form on her forehead. Her feet were planted apart, the one thing that seemed to be rooting her to the earth. Ginny moved forward to help her, but Ron held his sister back, watching the old witch in awe.

"I can't believe it," he whispered. "She's taking down one of Voldemort's boundaries."

McGonagall's hands came to her sides, her lips moving silently. And then, without warning, she fell to the ground in a heap. Ginny gasped and moved to her side, but McGonagall raised her head quickly.

"The boundary is down! You must move quickly, you haven't much time!"

Ron grabbed Ginny's hand, flinging her to his side and sprinting into the boundary. He gave McGonagall one fleeting glance and pointed his wand behind him, casting a protective charm that encompassed her. Ron could only hope it would be enough until her strength returned.

Then he turned back in front of him, his legs pushing him forward with Ginny running at his side, and they headed into the heart of the forest.

--

"Concentrate, Hermione." Narcissa said softly. Hermione clenched her hands again, staring hard at the books that lay around her. She had accomplished using the band within a ten-foot perimeter to levitate the books, but she was unable to hold it for more than a few seconds. It wasn't because she knew she couldn't; it was the thought of using the band to kill millions of people that made her concentration falter.

She took a deep breath and tried again. She saw the green light expand in all directions around her, the books lifting into the air gradually. She focused on one thing and only one thing: knowledge. She thought of that word and that was it. If she thought of that and nothing else, her concentration would remain full and she wouldn't have to stray to things like—

Bugger.

The books fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Narcissa laid a hand on Hermione's arm.

"I think that will be all for today." She said quietly

"How will he avoid it?" Hermione whispered shakily.

Narcissa blinked. "I do not know what you speak of."

"The Dark Lord—he's a half blood. How will he avoid the spell?"

"He has ways, I'm afraid. Lucius and I know few of them, but there is one enchantment that can prevent such penetration—"

"Use it." Hermione said suddenly, the idea springing into her thoughts.

"What? What are you saying?" Narcissa said, backing away from the younger girl.

"Find your husband, find your son, use the enchantment and stay safe." Narcissa opened her mouth to protest, but Hermione yelled, "Go now! Don't waste time!"

Narcissa stumbled, grabbing her wand from the desk closest to her. She turned to the doorway, taking several steps forward, but turned back and stared at Hermione. Hermione was staring down at the floor again, her fingers curled in on themselves once more.

Narcissa stepped back to her and put her arms around Hermione warmly. Hermione returned the gesture instantly, ducking her head onto the older witch's shoulder.

"You are still brave." Narcissa said softly against the mane of bushy, brown hair.

"I will keep you safe." Hermione whispered in reply, letting go of the only mother she had known for five years.

Narcissa stepped away, gave Hermione one last look and turned her back, pushing through the doors and into the dim hallway.

Hermione waited until the doors were still again before turning back to the center of the room. She took a deep breath, spreading her arms at her sides and closed her eyes. This would take more concentration than a levitation spell.

She pictured the globe in her mind, just like the one she had gotten for her seventh birthday, the one that spun around on its tilt and sat on the shelf in her room. She pictured that, she pictured the world being enveloped in her green glow, and she pictured the world without its evil.

But after that, she saw Ron's face behind her eyes, she saw him grinning like he had just won the Quidditch Cup for Gryfindor, and she saw his red Weasley hair, his freckles, and she saw only a world with him.

She opened her eyes and whispered, "I will keep you safe, Narcissa."

--

_Battle - A combat; struggle, as between armies._

Oh yeah, this was one hell of a struggle, all right.

Curses were flying past their ears as they ran. They had been running towards the two-story building for at least fifteen minutes, but they kept stopping to fight. Ron pulled up a shield charm and Ginny cast one of her nasty hexes, fending off one or two Death Eaters at a time. And then they would be on their way again until another pairing of Death Eaters attempted to halt them.

They were only futile attempts, however. The bitches didn't stand a chance against the Weasleys.

Ginny was panting, still managing to push out curses and spells when she needed them, but now they were only a hundred yards from the building. She had expected it to be larger, with many cells and barbarian cages; she expected to see skeletons and she expected to hear screams and echoes and maniacal laughs. She heard nothing, however, except the crunching of the leaves and roots beneath her feet as she sprinted and the heaving breaths of Ron beside her.

She just barely pulled him down onto the ground as a red curse flew by his hip. His eyes were wide when he glanced back at her, but she flung her body over him and pointed her wand at the Death Eater directly in front of her.

_"Stupefy!"_ she yelled, sending her opponent twenty feet away. She rushed to get off her brother's back, grabbing his cloak and pulling him towards the building again. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, sending one of her famous Bat-Bogey's that way.

_"Reducto!"_ she bellowed when they were thirty feet away from the grey walls of the building. Stone flew towards them and Ron ducked himself over Ginny. She felt his strong stance waver as a large piece of stone hit his back, but he just grunted and pulled her up again. She blinked away the dirt that had sheltered her eyes and stumbled along behind Ron, producing a shield charm in front of them as they made their way into the hallway she had bombarded.

The only thing she could hear now was the reflection of their feet off the stone, their ragged breathing and the blood pounding in her ears. Her side ached; she clutched it with her free hand and continued to move alongside Ron, who was finding cells according to the small windows along the ceiling.

"Ginny—" he said.

_"Reducto!"_ she said, and repeated the curse three more times to the walls in front of her. After the stone fell, she saw people in torn, rotting clothing staring at her in disbelief. Ginny turned to Ron.

"I'll—take care—of them. You—go find—Hermione." She panted, still clutching her side. She felt warm liquid oozing between her clothes and onto her fingers.

"I won't—" Ron was interrupted by a loud, nerve-wracking crack! Both he and Ginny turned to see a small woman with short pixie hair. She started at them defiantly, her wand drawn, her legs set apart. She was completely prepared for battle. And then, just as suddenly as she had came, she softened.

"You… you're the boy!" she yelped, pointing at him. She shook her head once, twice, and another time.

"What?" Ron asked, dumbfounded.

"Ron, you need to go. _Now!"_ Ginny panted, eyeing the younger witch in front of her.

"I know Hermione, I know her! We shared a cell—she helped me escape and I went back home to get my wand and now I'm back to get her out—I know this place, follow me!" the girl said hurriedly, pulling on Ron's cloak. He followed after her, but he heard Ginny mumble something after him.

"Be careful."

--

Hermione extended her arms again, taking a deep breath. Outside she could hear destruction and she knew that something had happened, someone was breaching the Convergence. She could be rescued, killed, taken prisoner again for all she knew.

Still, she steadied her arms and closed her eyes and she thought of a skull and a snake.

--

"Who _are_ you?" Ron asked as he sprinted behind this new girl.

"My name is Amanda, I met Hermione in a cell a few weeks ago. She told me how to escape and now I'm back so I can get her." She explained, turning at a sharp left randomly.

"How.. did you escape?" he asked, running out of breath at her fast pace. He glanced behind him and hexed whoever was following him, though he couldn't be sure just exactly who it was.

"It was simple, really. She had a loose stone in her wall and she moved it, it led to the outside. None of the wizards paid it any attention because they thought that everyone would be helpless without magic. It was rather ignorant of them, actually, but that's how both Calhoun and I got out."

"Why didn't she escape?"

"I don't know."

And then Amanda pushed through two double doors, revealing a dark room with books stacked higher than Ron's knee, with tables and desks and just two chairs, though the information present looked like enough to last an entire seven years at Hogwarts. A woman in a smooth, white dress with long sleeves stood in the middle of a circle of books, her arms extended and her back facing the door. Her long, now waist length bushy brown hair was neatly brushed and flowing down her back in an amazing fashion. She straightened her shoulders, flexed her fingers and gripped her wand tighter.

She whispered, _"Avada Kedvra."_

A green circle moved from her body, wavering as though walking on new legs, but came over Ron and Amanda, moving across their bodies. Ron felt a slight chill run up his spine but he watched the green glow in awe as it continued down the hallways and grew upward, moving to the ceiling.

Ron looked back at the woman, who was shaking in concentration, but he knew that he should not disturb her. He wanted to cry out and call her name, but he withheld his temptation and watched her.

She shook and kept her arms extended for seven more minutes, Ron counted, and during that time he had moved to her front and saw her beautiful face. She was biting her lip, her eyes scrunched up and she looked like she was in pain, but Ron knew this as the look she often bore when she was having a particularly bad dream. He just looked at her, amazed that she was here, she was alive, she was okay and it was all that had mattered to him for the past three years.

Ginny was standing in the doorway, her hand still at her side, with prisoners at her sides. They were staring at the woman as though they had been hypnotized, but Ginny was looking at her brother, not at the green glow or the girl in the middle of the room or even the gash at her side. She was watching Ron, and even as Amanda came to stand beside her and Ginny took the opportunity to lean on someone's strong shoulder, she still worried that this would not be enough.

Her eyes snapped open and the green had covered them, making her seem eerily powerful. She shook, her arms still out at her sides, but her voice came in a rasp.

"I may not be able to kill you myself, Lord Voldemort," she spoke, "but I can kill all that make you powerful." And then she closed her eyes once more, as though giving one last, heaving push and she collapsed.

The green vanished instantly, the room darkening again, and Ron felt as though everything had turned into a slower reality. She was falling to the ground and he moved to catch her, his hand just barely holding the back of her head before it hit the stone. He put his arm around her and pulled her against him, looking fearfully into her face.

"Hermione." He whispered, his voice shaking.

She opened her eyes just enough to see him and he was hit painfully with one thousand memories of those very same eyes looking into his. And she said, "Ron."

And she closed her eyes again.

--

When Hermione Granger awoke again, she was not sitting in the dimly lit cell of the very first Convergence.

She was sitting in a soft, white cotton bed with two pillows and three sets of sheets. She was wearing a thin, loose gown that flittered at her ankles and her hair was pulled back from her face. She looked around the room and out the window, seeing the sunshine that was streaming through her windows. She saw six sets of red hair sitting around her, their heads all ducked as though they were napping.

Hermione cleared her throat.

The six heads shot up to look at her and they all grinned, in a clear relief, and Hermione sought out only one face.

And there he was, right next to her; she hadn't noticed his ever-warm hand tucked away in her own. He smiled a soft smile that Hermione had ached to see for years.

"Hey, Hermione." His voice was so smooth and gentle, so easy and she had forgotten what that voice had sounded like. She moved and flung her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder and pulling him close. He put his arms around her and sighed happily into her hair. She glanced up and saw Ginny standing at the doorway, grinning. She had a bandage wrapped around her middle, up to her ribs and down to her navel, and she was leaning against the doorway for support.

But she was still Ginny, so everything was okay. Hermione darted her eyes around the room and saw the rest of the Weasley family, even Bill and Charlie. Mrs. Weasley was dabbing her eyes and her husband was patting her arm but smiling at Hermione with his twinkling eyes. George looked the happiest out of the entire family, Ron excluded, his hand running through his hair and letting out a large sigh. But he smiled at her and she knew everything was okay.

Finally, she pulled away from Ron. She left her hands on his forearms, however, and he just looked at her even though her words were directed at Ginny.

"What happened to you?"

"I blew up the building you were in and a big rock nicked me, didn't feel a bloody thing. I thought it had hit Ron." Ginny said casually.

"One _did_ hit me, I've got the bruises to prove it." Ron said, still looking at Hermione's face. Hermione turned to Mrs. Weasley next.

"Where am I?"

"St. Mungos, d-dear. Th-that curse really t-took a lot out of you." She replied, dabbing her eyes again.

And then she turned to Percy, who was standing next to the chair George was sitting in with his hand on the back. "Did it work, then?" she asked quietly, her voice smaller than she had planned.

Percy nodded solemly. "Yes, all of the Death Eaters are gone. Forever."

"How'd you do it?" one voice said.

"You must've studied that for weeks!" another voice.

"You know, she _is_ the brightest witch of her age…" ah, that one was Ginny.

"Ron, make them shut up." Hermione said in his ear, and he grinned and stood.

"Um, could you lot come back later? I promise I'll fill you in tonight." He said, and Mrs. Weasley stood immediately. Mr. Weasley followed and then Percy, Charlie and Bill. Only George and Ginny remained.

"I'm glad you're still here, Hermione." George said with a nod, standing and moving to kiss her cheek. And then he left without another word.

Ginny was standing at the doorway with her arms crossed, looking at Hermione with a small smirk. She waltzed over to them (Hermione was amazed that she could have a limp and still waltz) and sat down on the edge of the bed, tracing the quilt patterns with her finger tips.

"I know you two want some alone time, but… I just wanted to say that…" Ginny spoke with a soft voice, and finally she looked up into Hermione's eyes. "You're brilliant, Hermione." She moved forward and put an arm around Hermione's neck, holding her with a gentle grip and then she let go.

"Explain everything, Ron. Don't skip to the snogging," Ginny scolded and exited the room.

Ron sighed and looked at the doorway after his sister had left. Hermione took the chance to take in the red hair, the eight freckles scattered on his nose, his wonderful blue eyes that held so much life, but he when he turned back, she saw the smile he kept especially for her and she couldn't help but boil up into tears.

"Oh, Hermione—" she swatted at him and wiped her eyes.

"How long was I asleep?"

"A few weeks. The Healers weren't sure if you were gonna make it or not."

"All the Convergences are…?"

"Empty, closed, we've taken care of all of it. After all the Death Eaters were done for, Voldemort fled and all the boundaries broke. They were all where I had said they were." He looked at her warily. "Proud of me?"

Hermione blinked. "I've always been proud of you." And then he smiled.

"Is there anything else to explain to me?" she asked.

"Not that I can think of… the Healers wanted to keep you for a little while longer, but since you woke up, you'll be allowed to leave in the morning, I suspect. Um, Ginny was given an award for releasing all of the prisoners—and yeah, she did all of that, I just went to get you—and Amanda was promoted to something important at the Ministry in America."

"You met up with Amanda?"

"Yeah, we bumped into her when we got into the building, actually. She helped me find you. She told me that she escaped and went home to get her wand or something and then she came back to get you. She sort of just appeared there when Ginny and I did."

"Ginny was with you the whole time?"

"Yeah, she was really helpful, she had this weird machine that can track people and stuff. She put it on the market for the Ministry, her and George are making loads. They're calling it 'The Wheeze.' Oh, and we got your parents home from Australia. Their memories are being restored and you'll be able to see them soon."

Hermione was silent for a while. And then she tilted her head and looked at Ron.

"Anything else?"

She shook her head, shifting her fingers that were wrapped loosely in his own. She looked down at their hands like that, twined as they were, and she smiled. And then she looked back into his face, leaned forward and put her arms around his neck again, pulling her chest against his.

"Hermione?" Ron's voice was quiet against her hair.

"Hm?"

"Why didn't you try to escape?"

Hermione pulled away from him, her hands resting on the back of his neck. She drummed her fingers on his skin and said, "Too many people would have been killed in my name. It was bad enough that all those Muggles and Muggleborns and half bloods were being tortured… I couldn't just let them _die_ for my freedom."

Ron just nodded in response, his calloused hand trailing down her arm.

"So how did you do it?" he asked, and Hermione could tell that he really wanted to know.

She took a deep breath and told him of the research she did, she told him of Hovner's band and how to concentrate on the curse, how to extend it and how to make it work just correctly. She pointedly left out Narcissa's kindness and aid throughout the entire ordeal, but she had other plans to make up for that. Ron listened with genuine interest, and when he kissed her cheek as he left, he said that he would be telling his family everything he had heard.

Night was falling by the time Ron had departed her room. She looked around the room and saw one book lying on the bedside table with a scrap of parchment on top of it. She picked it up and read the familiar, sloppy scrawl that made up Ron's handwriting.

_I know you've read it at least a hundred times, but I couldn't think of anything else that you might enjoy._

-Ron

Hermione smiled and ran her hand over the worn cover of _Hogwarts: A History._ She was thoroughly convinced that it was the copy she had used for her six years at Hogwarts. Despite her hunger for entertainment, she just left the book in her lap, feeling the weight of the pages rest on her thighs. It was a small comfort, one she had long forgotten about, but now she could remember all the nights in the common room she had spent with Harry and Ron with the very same book resting just where it was now.

Hermione set kept the book where it was, adjusting in her bed and closing her eyes. She slept without a worry that night, and when she woke in the morning, she realized just how long it had been since that had happened.

--

Hermione was taken to the Burrow almost immediately the following morning. She was greeted by warm hugs and sweet kisses and a hot, famous Weasley breakfast. She ate little but cherished it all the same, and Ron sat beside her with his fingers drawing on her arm the entire time.

There were questions to answer from Ron's family—no, they were _her_ family, too—and she endured. She had all the time there was to have now, and even though Harry was still out there, still hunting Voldemort, she knew he would be okay.

Noon had passed by the time everyone had drifted off and there was only Hermione, Ron and Ginny remaining in the kitchen. Ron's fingers were lightly moving along the inside of her wrist and Ginny was braiding a lock of her hair. She gave them both a glance.

"Do you think I'm strong enough to Apparate?" she asked them.

"What do you want to Apparate for?" Ginny said, nonchalantly darting her eyes to meet Hermione's.

"I have someone I need to visit." Ron looked at her suspiciously. "They helped me while I was working on the spell."

"I'll take you by Side-Along if you need me to."

Hermione shook her head. "I would prefer to go alone."

She could tell by the way his eyes gleamed that he had absolutely no intention of leaving her alone to go visit a stranger, but before he could pipe up, Ginny chided, "Just use the Floo network, then." She had finished her braid and was beginning another one, still looking nothing more than a bit disinterested by their conversation. But Hermione could tell by the way she kept glancing at her brother that she was genuinely concerned.

Hermione squeezed Ron's hand and stood, taking some Floo powder from the flowerpot by the fireplace and throwing it into the fire. She looked back over at her shoulder to see them, and then she gave a strong voice to, "Malfoy Manor!"

--

Coughing and wheezing, having forgotten what the sensation was like, Hermione stumbled into the cool, quiet mansion of the Malfoy's. She waved her wand to brush some of the soot off of her robes, her feet echoing on the dark marble beneath her as she stepped forward and looked around the room. It was empty.

She flicked her wand again to make a sort of _whooshing_ sound, alerting everyone in the house that a visitor was here. She was one of the few people that used such a courtesy, but she wasn't fond of barging on in people when they least expected. Judging by the size of Narcissa's home, she would have to wait a few moments before anyone found her in here, so Hermione looked at the mantle of the fireplace.

There were just three pictures, and all of them were quite surprising to see. The first one was of Lucius and Narcissa in their Hogwarts robes, their arms on each other's shoulders. She guessed that they were about fourteen. The second was one of Draco and his parents, though Draco was still young, before he and Hermione had ever met. His hair was loose and he was grinning like Hermione had never seen him grin before, and even Narcissa seemed more carefree in that photo.

The final one was of Draco again, though he was standing with a young woman that Hermione barely recognized. Her hair was black and cut short, like it had been for years, but her face was scarred with a marring that was similar to that of Remus Lupin and Bill Weasley's. Hermione held the photograph in her hand and examined it closer. Draco was smiling sadly, and Pansy, whom she expected to be the same, sneering girl she had grown up with, was looking at the camera solemnly, her arm around Draco's waist.

Hermione heard footsteps behind her. She didn't turn around, for she was familiar with the way Narcissa stepped, and when she was close enough, Hermione said, "When did this happen?"

"It was a punishment when Draco failed to locate Harry Potter. He wasn't romantically involved with Pansy at the time, and he wasn't after the accident for quite some time, but the Dark Lord knew that they were very close friends." Narcissa paused and Hermione felt her move closer to her. "The Dark Lord uses those that are the most important to us to persuade."

Hermione only nodded and put the picture back in its place, her eyes moving over the other captured moments as well. She found it saddening, how much this family had changed over the past years, and how much they had suffered. Though their fate was one they chose, she could still not help but feel as though it was not only by their own hands.

Hermione turned around and looked at Narcissa for a moment and then she extended her arms towards her, beckoning her in for a hug as though they were long time friends. Narcissa met her arms with an equal warmth. Hermione felt her hand move into her hair momentarily, and then she pulled back and looked into Hermione's face.

"You spared us." Narcissa said it quietly, her hands grasping themselves into Hermione's. Hermione just nodded in response, but Narcissa ducked her head down into Hermione's shoulder and wept. Hermione weaved her fingers into the straight golden locks and the owner just remained where she was, her body shaking slightly as the pain overcame her.

Then she looked up from her silent thanks and said, "Why?"

"You didn't deserve that fate. Neither did Draco."

"And Lucius…?"

"I couldn't take anyway someone you loved." Hermione's nose wrinkled at that thought. "Bellatrix was the exception… I had to kill her."

Narcissa nodded sadly. "It will take me a long time to forgive you for her death, but it is understandable all the same. I'm just grateful that my family is alive…"

"When I'm well and the questioning begins, I'll make sure that your family is secluded from the questioning. The Ministry will obviously know that I had you kept safe, but I don't want your family put in my same position. I'll be able to handle it all at first, but you will probably receive the worst," Hermione said.

"No, I will be at the questioning with you," Narcissa said sharply. Hermione moved to protest, but Narcissa cut her off. "We have been through too much together for me to simply stand by. I will not allow that to happen." Hermione wanted to object, but she knew it was pointless. She let the matter fall.

"How is Draco?" she asked, glancing back at the picture of him and Pansy.

"He is well. He takes care of Pansy most of the time; the scars are nothing easy to manage. He has been studying to officially complete his schooling, though I'm not sure what exactly he will be doing once that is over." Narcissa met Hermione's eyes. "I suspect he plans to be with her for a long time." Hermione nodded with a smile.

"What will you do?" Narcissa asked quietly. She squeezed the other's hands.

"I'd like to rest for just a while longer, spend some time with everyone. Then I think I'll work for the Ministry; I still think elves need more rights than they have." Her tone was airy, a quality she would have associated most with Luna Lovegood. She looked around the room, up at one of the towering windows that was spreading sunshine magnificently throughout the room.

"Thank you," she said to Narcissa, who just smiled.

"You did all the work," the older woman replied.

"But without you, I would still be stuck at square one. You just… you knew." Narcissa smiled again and followed Hermione's gaze to the blue sky out of the glass. They stayed just like that for a moment, relishing the green before them and the promise of life that was billowing strongly.

"I suppose I should be going, but… I just wanted to see how you were doing," Hermione said, her hands moving to wrap her cloak tightly around her.

"Tell me when the questioning is to begin. I will be there," Narcissa said, giving Hermione one last hug before admitting her back to the fireplace. Hermione held on for a second longer than she should have, but Narcissa paid no attention to this, and Hermione knew then that having Pansy so close would never be a problem.

"Give Draco and Pansy my best wishes," Hermione said, weighing a good amount of Floo powder in her hand. She turned to Narcissa once more.

"I will be seeing you soon, Hermione Granger," Narcissa Malfoy said, and Hermione's last look before the green flames consumed her was the small, notable smile that graced her lips.

--

Ron was sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace when she stumbled back into the living room of the Burrow. His eyes were closed and his head sank back into the cushions, but when he heard her cough, his head sprang up and his eyes opened quickly.

"There you are." He said, standing and rubbing his eyes.

"I wasn't gone long."

"I don't like being away from you."

Hermione smiled and set her cloak down on one of the chairs. She was briefly reminded of the many late nights she had spent in the very same chair, preparing for O.W.L.'s and finals and researching Horcruxes, and even making time for a little light reading. She reached for his hand and squeezed it warmly in her own. "Can we take a walk in the garden?" she asked.

"Of course."

The air was warm as it fluttered around them, the breeze slow and friendly. Hermione sighed as it weaved through her hair, into the fabric of her clothes, and ghosted her skin. She swung her arm slightly between them, gazing out into the forest and the open fields. She caught a faint glimpse of a house in the distance, and by its odd, angular shape and crooked fence, she knew that perhaps Luna was in there, waiting for Ginny to arrive like she often did in the few weeks that Hermione had taken to recover.

Ron pulled her along the soft grass and prismacolor flowers. He didn't speak or make any move to acknowledge that he wanted to talk to her; it seemed that holding her hand and letting her experience all that she had lost was enough for him.

But she spoke anyway. "Do you know how Harry is doing?"

"We haven't had word from him since we told him you were back. He said that he was utterly relieved, but he had to leave almost instantly to track Voldemort. I suppose he's doing better, and in his Patronus he mentioned something about coming back for an hour soon to see you." Ron smiled. "I wonder if he'll let us along for the ride again."

"He knows that we're in this together," Hermione said quietly, squeezing Ron's hand again.

"We've always been, haven't we?" Ron said happily, his eyes wandering up to view the sky.

Hermione smiled. "Since you gits rescued me from the troll." Ron turned to her and grinned. She stopped walking, turning to face him, taking his other hand in hers. She loved the way his hair was positively shining in the light of the sun, the way his blue eyes were twinkling at her, but she especially loved how, despite how much he had matured and grown, he was still the same old Ron she had known since she was eleven years old, still bearing the same old grin and the same stability he had always had.

She put her hands on his forearms and looked at him, straight in the eye. His smile fell slowly with Hermione looking at him like that.

"Do me a favor?" she whispered, stepping closer to him.

"Anything," he breathed.

"Always keep us together." She put her hands on either side of his face, her eyes gazing into his. "We're meant to protect him, Ron. We're meant to be with him. It's been our job for years." He smiled again, his hands resting on her sides.

"I promise," he said, sealing his words with brush of his lips against her own.

Hermione wrapped her arms around Ron, pulling him closer, breathing him in. He was so real, so alive. She was reminded then of the fading memories she had had of him, the memories that had been her lifeline for so many years. And even though the tears came from her eyes, she smiled against his kiss, smiled for all the new memories they would make.

"I think he knows, though," Ron mumbled when they had parted. "I think he knows that we're supposed to stay the way we are."

"He's known from the beginning," she said.

Ron was silent for a moment, his arms holding her against him as he looked back up into the sky. And then he looked back down, and he was wearing that very same grin she had always known.

"We've all known."

And it was one of the truest things Hermione Granger had ever heard in her life. After everything she had ever been through, after trolls and giants and Devil's Snare, after battles and schooling and countless hours reading, after serving the Dark Lord and being so close to death, that was, in the end, the only thing that had ever remained the same. They would always have each other, they would always be together, and from the start, they had all known that.

Even though they stood without Harry, Ron and Hermione felt his presence, even if it only existed in the recesses of their minds.

"It was only the beginning," Hermione said.

Ron nodded. "I guess it would be stupid for us to say that this is the end of the beginning, wouldn't it?"

Hermione shook her head. "Honestly, Ron, haven't you learned by now that there's never an end when it comes to Harry?" Ron smiled.

"What're you two blabbering on about?" said the voice they ached to hear, and when Hermione turned around, she flung herself into the waiting arms of Harry Potter and decided then and there that she and Ron would never, ever let go.


End file.
